Marked
by HDUC
Summary: On a distant planet, the Tenth Doctor is forced into a royal engagement. Literally. He's not the absolute best candidate, but he's well-liked, and possesses one other desirable trait that could be a deal-breaker. Martha Jones reckons, some personal traits cannot change... but some can. It's time to rescue the Doctor.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi friends! ****It's been a while since I've found the wherewithal to write a story like this... science fiction for the sake of smut, and vice versa. That's when "shipping" works best, in my opinion. ;-) **

**As I've said before, reasons for our favorite two characters to wind up**** doing sweaty, naked things together, they are fun to think about, but really solid ideas don't come easily to me anymore. (I mean, some of us think that they don't really need a reason, but that doesn't lend itself to quality writing, does it? Or maybe it does... why am I to say?)**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy this offering. I'm anticipating two parts, this first part being merely the "set-up" for the "knocking down" that is to come. It will contain smut, of course, but also perhaps a bit of social commentary. Enjoy!**

* * *

PART 1

"Okay. It's a jungle," Martha Jones said flatly, as she stepped out of the TARDIS and looked around. After the amount of hype the Doctor had given it, she'd been expecting something a bit more colourful. "It's green. It's moist. It's… muddy."

"Not just any green, wet jungle," he chirped, stepping out next to her, with a huge smile on his face. "This is the Jungle of Nysted, the most ecologically-balanced area of green in this sector of the universe. The Brazilian rain forest on Earth used to come pretty close, until the Industrial Revolution, and then that all went to hell."

"I see," she said, quizzically.

He took her hand, and began to walk forward, away from the TARDIS.

"The country of Nysted is inhabited by some three _billion_ species of animal," the Doctor told her, as they stumbled through the foliage. "Including several that are humanoid, and remarkably similar to humankind in their sensibilities. With one rather important exception."

"And that would be?"

"They renounce technology."

"Oh. Interesting."

"They have the capability to do lots of things – mag-lev, industrial building, petroleum-like mining… they know it all exists, and certain experts on this planet have studied and understand it. But they think it's all unnecessary and unbecoming to them."

"Wow, that _is_ a definite departure from humans."

"Therefore, they coexist with the other animals," he said. "The jungle needs them, and vice versa. The florae grow only healthier, ditto for the faunae."

"Funny what a bit of _not_ slashing-and-burning will do."

"There's that, and one other major secret that gives them a huge advantage over humans. That's really what I brought you here to see," he said.

"So you're saying, this jungle is so pristine because the Industrial Revolution hasn't hit it yet."

"More or less."

"Steam-powered stuff, graduating into coal-powered stuff, and so on."

"Right."

"Then, what's with the smoke?" she asked, pointing up.

The Doctor looked where she was indicating, and surely enough, there was a cloud of grey smoke that could be seen against the white sky, through the trees.

"What? No," he said, his voice low, incredulous, a bit disgusted. "They can't have…"

He ploughed through the trees ahead now, in the direction of the smoke, and Martha struggled to keep up. And all too quickly, it became obvious: civilisation here was not what the Doctor thought.

There was a brick building in front of them, pumping smoke out of a chimney. It looked, to their eyes, like a standard-issue factory.

It was at the top of a hill, and when one looked down into the valley below, one could see a city. Not quite like London or New York, but a city nonetheless, and a concrete road passed ten feet from where they now stood, and led down into the medium-sized city.

"What the hell happened?" the Doctor breathed, as they waited to cross a busy street, where dozens of car-like vehicles (though more boxy-looking) sped by on a road bordered by forest.

They ran across the road in a gap in the traffic, and Martha said, "I don't know. Could you have missed your target time-period? Wouldn't be the first time."

He sighed. "I suppose."

They walked down a street lined with modern-looking houses, many with a "car" parked out front.

"Blimey, is everyone in the universe obsessed with having _things_?" Martha muttered.

"Yes," he answered, emphatically. "Haven't you learned that yet?"

"So, now what are we doing?" she asked.

"I suppose I'd like to speak to someone in charge."

"So, we're aliens who've just landed here, and we're literally going to say _take me to your leader?"_

"What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing," she said. "Just a bit worn-out."

As they walked, Martha noticed what looked like two humanoid men, standing out in their front yards, chatting. One of them was wearing gardening gloves, a hat, and loose, dirty clothing. The other had a bag slung over his shoulder, and looked remarkably well-coiffed. His hair was impeccable, and he wore what looked like a brand-new, charcoal-grey, extremely well-tailored suit, of the sort worn on Earth. Of the sort worn by the Doctor himself.

"It looks great," said the man with the gloves. "Very chic, and have you lost weight?"

"Thanks," said the other. "And yes, I have!"

"That suit is going to knock her socks off."

"I hope so. Usually, she gets home from work, and just demands dinner… no hello, no _how are the kids?_ No acknowledgement that I matter at all, so I thought this might help."

"Oh, you know women. They have long days, sometimes they're cranky, but it doesn't mean they don't love us."

"I know, I know," said the well-coiffed man. "It's just… she was different when we got married. She was attentive and…"

That's when Martha could not hear anymore.

"Wow, did you hear that?" she asked the Doctor.

"Hear what?"

"Those two guys talking," she said. "They sound like a couple of housewives from the 1950s."

"What? What guys? What are you talking about?"

"Never mind," she said. She could see that his wheels were turning, trying to work out just how the hell this jungle-adjacent city was possible.

"I know what we need to find," he said. "The seat of the Nysted Lasha."

"The what?"

"The Nysted Lasha," he repeated. "They are, well, for lack of a better word, clergy. Governing body, as well, after a fashion."

"Let me guess: they owe you a favour."

"No, they just might have the answers I'm looking for," he said. "Back in the old days, they were what you might call Pagans. They were all about preserving the integrity of the planet and its nature."

"Oh. Well, maybe they've been taken down, and that's why this has happened."

"Nah," he said. "I keep seeing their insignia. See?" He touched a street sign, and indicated a symbol in the corner. It was an inverted triangle, with two smaller upright triangles attached to its sides.

"Their insignia is all over everything?"

He nodded. "And that fact doesn't bode well, does it? But it does probably mean that they have the answers I want. Whatever happened to this place, they had to have been in on it, which brings me back to my original question: what the hell happened?"

They had come to a corner, and across the street there was what looked like some office-like buildings. They made their way over, and the Doctor opened one of the doors.

As he did, a group of well-dressed businesswomen were leaving, and he held the door for them. They all stopped in their tracks and looked at him with wonder. The Doctor looked properly confused.

"What are you doing, love?" asked one of the women.

"Erm, holding the door for you?"

"Oh, sweetie," said another woman. "That's a woman's job."

All three of them looked meaningfully at Martha, as if to ask, _what is wrong with you?_

"Er, okay," Martha said, moving toward the door. The Doctor stepped aside and handed the task off to her.

The women then walked through the door, and the first one said to her, "A man shouldn't have to do those things, and you ought to know that."

The second one very pointedly looked the Doctor over, and said, "Especially that one. He's lovely, lovely. You want to keep him pretty and fit for _other_ _things_." As she walked past him, she winked.

The third one looked him over as well, and said, "Agreed."

With that, the women walked away from the door, and Martha and the Doctor overheard one of them say, "How the hell can she let him do that? Doesn't she have any control at all? I mean, what is this world coming to?"

The two travelers looked at each other with frowns.

"Shall we?" she asked, gesturing inside.

She held the door for him, and he walked through, and they headed toward the front desk, in the middle of a large-ish lobby. A good-looking man sat there, and when they approached, he stood up. He wore a navy-blue suit that looked uncomfortably tight.

"Yes ma'am?" he asked them.

"Well, this might sound daft," the Doctor said to him. "But we were wondering if you could direct us to the Nysted Lasha. I mean, like, their HQ. Their _seat_. Their cloister… something like that."

The man looked at him rather nervously, stuttered a bit with his answer, and then turned to Martha. "I-if you're looking for the Lasha's Official Rectory, it's not far from here." Then he gave them directions.

"Thanks," Martha said, unsurely.

Just then, a door behind the young man opened, and another group of businesswomen came out, and were set to walk past the reception desk on the way out the doors.

"Bye, Maxon," one of them said. "We're going to lunch. You just stay gorgeous until we get back."

"All right, ma'am," said the receptionist, apparently named Maxon.

A second woman made a slight detour to her left to pinch his bum, and he smiled uncomfortably.

Another said, "I don't know what I'll do when you find a wife and have to quit your job."

"I don't know either, ma'am," he said, sheepishly.

"It'll be right hard finding eye-candy as good as you," she said.

With that, they all exited the building, now chatting about something business-related.

Maxon gathered himself. "Will there be anything else?"

"No," the Doctor said. "Are you okay? I mean… those women…"

"I'm fine," Maxon said. "All of us – the receptionists, secretaries and whatnot – we reckon it's part of the job."

"How's that?" the Doctor asked.

Maxon looked at Martha. "It just is," he said, with mock-cheerfulness. "Have a lovely day."

"Yeah, thanks," she said.

The two of them exited the building, and turned left, as per Maxon's instructions toward the Lasha Rectory.

They couldn't help but notice then, at the lunch hour, it was mostly women out and about. What men there were only spoke to each other, really, and they were usually bustling about with clothing bags, groceries, and children.

Without saying anything the Doctor and Martha acknowledged to one another that they got the game.

"So, shot in the dark: I'm thinking that when we get into the Lasha Rectory, we might be better off if _you_ do the talking," the Doctor said.

She chuckled. "Okay, but… do you really need to know _that bad_? I mean, we could just go back to the TARDIS and move on."

The Doctor smirked at her as they walked, and he asked, "Do you hear yourself?"

"Sorry."

He held out his hand. "Hi, I'm the Doctor – I don't believe we've met."

"Shut up," she chuckled, swatting his hand away. "Fine. What do I say?"

* * *

The front building of the Rectory's complex was designed after the order's insignia. Structurally, the large inverted triangle was upheld by the two upright triangles on each side. It was a striking building, but to Martha's eye, it seemed like something an artist on Earth might have rendered in 1960, describing how the year 2000 might look.

The Doctor and Martha walked through a narrow opening in the seven-foot hedgerow that seemed to surround the complex, and made their way toward the front door, such as it was.

The Doctor knocked, then stood behind Martha and waited for someone to answer.

A woman with blonde hair, pulled tightly in a bun, dressed in a plain black tunic, opened the door. "Yes?"

"Hello," Martha said. "My name is Martha Jones, and I was wondering if I might request an audience with… your priestess?"

The woman looked annoyed, as she took a breath, and said, "Abbess Alissem is indisposed right now. May I ask what this is regarding?" At that, she seemed to notice the Doctor for the first time, and peered over Martha's shoulder to get a better look at him.

For his part, he felt a bit uncomfortable about being looked-at and commented-on, and not really being able to say much. He honestly wasn't sure whether to make eye-contact or not. But it was in his nature to make eye-contact with just about everyone, so he did, and then settled for a slightly awkward smile and wave.

"I'm an off-worlder, doing a thesis on Nysted history," Martha explained. "I was hoping to speak to the Abbess about the, er, _industrial revolution,_ as it were. I'm hoping to trace the changing mores of the planet, and find out more about your order, and possibly its influence on those changes. Does that sound like something the Abbess might entertain?"

The woman looked her over, then again, looked the Doctor over. She kept her eyes on his face for a bizarrely long time, then stepped aside, and ushered them in.

"Thank you," said Martha, then the Doctor echoed her.

The interior was austere, and certainly gave the impression that what happened within was to be revered. There was an ornate staircase that split off in two directions at the landing, the banister made of what looked like a deep mahogany. The second sets of stairs led up to a new floor, lined to the very high ceiling with portraits. "Abbesses past," the Doctor mused, studying the portraits.

The walls were deep red, ornamented with an intricate gold pattern, and the floors were covered with a soft, dark-coloured carpet. The lighting was dim, the scent in the air was woodsy, and a pleasing, mid-tone bell sounded in the background, like a chant.

"This is not a guarantee," the woman said. "I will tell the Abbess what you've just told me, and will see if she has the time and inclination to meet with you. Her schedule is quite demanding." Oddly, however (though perhaps not _that _oddly, considering what they'd been seeing since arriving here), while speaking to Martha, the woman kept her eyes trained on the Doctor. She examined him quite closely.

"No doubt. Thank you again," Martha said.

"Have a seat," said the woman, indicating some dark wooden benches along the front wall. "My name is Larocy. I'll be back before long."

The two of them sat down and waited.

"She likes you," Martha said, when they were reasonably certain that Larocy was out of earshot.

"I noticed," he sighed. "I don't know what to make of that."

"Since when?" she asked.

"Oi," he protested. "I don't know what to make of _any_ of this, truth be told."

"It's not your job to make anything of it. Just stand around and look pretty," she told him, only half-joking.

"I think that's probably good advice."

After a few silent beats, Martha asked, "So, this Abbess Alissem, have you heard of her?"

"No," he told her. "And last I knew, the Lasha's leader was a Priest or Priestess, not an Abbot or Abbess. And I've never met them, mind you, but there's nothing in annals of time suggesting that they're this… dark."

"Well, you might have hit on something there," Martha commented. "You want to know what happened to them? Revolution, darkness, pollution and pavement, and one half of the population subservient. Sounds like Earth only… in reverse. Kind of."

"It gets better on Earth, little by little," he said. "Hopefully here, too."

"So, when the Abbess gets here, do I just say what I said before?"

"Yes, unless something weird happens. I mean, weird... er."

"Shouldn't I just tell them to let _you_ talk? Answer your questions – humour you, like the absolutely adorable, but inferior being that you are?" She said, this and couldn't hold in her giggle.

"If you'd like. But you can handle this on your own."

"I don't know what to ask!"

"You'll work it out!"

"No, I…"

"Hello," said a woman's voice, from the top of the stairs.

"Hello," Martha and the Doctor answered, in unison.

Another beatific woman was now greeting them from the top of the stairs. She, too, had hair tightly pulled into a bun, and a black tunic. But her hair was black as her clothing, and her tunic was embroidered with the same intricate gold pattern that adorned the walls.

She began to make her way down the stairs, and she studied them both. She reached the bottom of the stairs, and said, "Underlings stand in my presence, unless I say otherwise."

Martha and the Doctor stood without a word, and the woman smiled. She then took a step back from them, and looked the Doctor over quite conspicuously.

"I am Abbess Alissem," she said to him. "And who might you be?"

"I'm the Doctor," he replied.

"Are you, indeed?"

"Erm… yes," he replied, a bit as though he were asking a question himself.

"That's precious," she said to him, still with a silky smile.

Martha recognised the look on the Abbess' face. She found it charming that _a man _would call himself a doctor. Martha herself had been treated this way before, when she'd told people she wanted to go to medical school, and occasionally _during_ medical school. Almost like a pat on the head, as though she were a child.

"I'm glad you think so," the Doctor retorted, his tone still somewhat questioning.

"What's your real name, darling?" asked the Abbess.

"The Doctor," he replied.

"Cheeky," the Abbess muttered. Then she looked at Martha. "What's his name?"

"I only know him as the Doctor," said Martha. "I can't help you."

"Oh, he fancies himself an enigma, does he?"

Martha laughed at the gross understatement. "Yeah, you could say that."

"All right," the Abbess conceded in a high, singsong tone, again, studying the Doctor. She reached out and put both hands on his upper arms, and squeezed. Then she did the same with his shoulders. He frowned while she did this, but did not ask any questions. When she pulled her hands away, she said, "Nice-looking suit, darling."

"Thanks," he said, simply.

"Did Larocy tell you why we're here?" Martha asked the Abbess, eager to get down to business, and out of this creepy, dark chamber.

"Yes, and none of it interests me," Abbess Alissem said to her, without looking directly at her. She was now circling round the Doctor, occasionally touching him. His back and scapulae, the back of his well-coiffed head, his hand…

"Sorry?" Martha asked.

"None of your so-called _research _interests me," the Abbess repeated, calmly. "No-one from off-world is entitled to our secrets, and the idea that you might judge us for our sociological mores is offensive."

"The intent is not to judge…"

"Quiet," the Abbess said.

The next question in Martha's mind was _if you aren't interested in helping us, then why did you bother coming downstairs?_ But she did not voice it, because, she realised that the answer was painfully obvious. The Abbess was clearly here to ogle the Doctor. Larocy must have tipped her off to his presence for some reason, and now he was her only objective at the moment.

"Open your mouth, darling," said the Abbess to the Doctor.

"Why?" the Doctor asked.

"Do not question me," she commanded, with total calm.

"Sorry - I have a plucky and curious spirit. It's charming," he told the Abbess.

She sighed with tedium. "I want to see your teeth. Come now, don't be shy."

She actually took him by the jaw, and shoved two fingers between his lips as he tried to protest, and wrenched open his jaw. He was taller than she, so she had to pull down in order to get a good look, and the Doctor's body bent forward, awkwardly.

"What are you doing? Stop it!" Martha screeched. "What is he, livestock?"

The Abbess let go of the Doctor. The Abbess turned to Martha. "Forgive me, what's your name then?"

"Martha Jones."

"Well, Ms. Jones, is this fine specimen your husband?"

"You're only bothering to ask _now?_" Martha wondered aloud.

"Just answer the question."

The Doctor and Martha looked at each other briefly, and in the two seconds it took her to answer the question, she wondered if she should lie. But she didn't have time to weigh the consequences of that, including what the Doctor would think about it later, so she reluctantly said, "No."

"Are you betrothed?"

"No."

"I'm ever so glad to hear it," said the Abbess. "Because I am in need of a consort."

"A… what?" asked the Doctor.

"I reached the age of majority some time ago, and I have resisted marriage long enough," she said. "The royal line needs an heir, or so my Gathering Council tells me. And I have to say, I agree. For that, I need a husband."

"Oh. Wow," Martha said, having no idea what else to say.

"He is not your husband, nor is he betrothed to you," said the Abbess. "So what is his function in your life?"

"We're… friends. His _function_ is companionship," Martha answered, grabbing the Doctor's hand.

"You find men to be acceptable _friends_, then? How interesting," Alissem said flatly. Then she pried their hands apart, and forced the Doctor to step three feet to his right, away from Martha, as she continued to speak. "Anyhow, he won't fetch you top price because it doesn't seem he's been properly reared, but…"

"Top price?" Martha practically shouted. "What are you on about?"

"Nevertheless," the Abbess continued. "We shall see that you are well compensated for this handsome gem."

She stood back and admired the Doctor.

"Abbess Alissem, I think there's been a misunderstanding," he tried.

"Are you not clear on my intentions?" the Abbess asked him.

"No, no, I'm clear," he told her. "But I'm not for sale."

"Of course you are," she said. "And what _else _are you going to do with your life, love? This is what men are meant for. I like you. Be my consort, my..."

"Trophy?" Martha muttered.

"Pardon?" the Abbess asked her.

"Nothing," Martha dismissed.

"So… I'm no better than chattel, then," the Doctor assessed, and almost against his will, his eyes darted to his left, toward the door through which they had entered.

"Now, don't be one of _those_," Alissem scolded. "And don't be looking for the exit. You know that's not an option."

"One of _those_?" he asked, focusing on the part that _didn't_ specifically mean that he and Martha were trapped.

"You know, one of those _pro-men _lunatics," the Abbess said, with a big smile. "Equality, and challenging the status-quo, and all that rubbish."

"Yeah, who'd want to challenge the status-quo, when the status-quo clearly works so well for all citizens?" he asked.

"Precisely. And furthermore, it's unbecoming of a man as lovely as you. The movement is for men who are ugly, or obese. You have no need of anything like that," she chirped.

"Wha… how… Doctor…" Martha said.

"Of course, there are certain criteria he'll have to meet before the transaction can be made final," Abbess Alissem declared to Martha, and not to the Doctor. "We'll have him examined straight away. First and foremost is the Mark test. We don't want to waste our time; if he doesn't pass, this is all moot."

With that, she turned toward the stairs, and seemed to press a button on the banister. A tone sounded somewhere in the building, and Larocy appeared on the landing immediately. "Ready for the Mark Test, ma'am?"

"Yes," the Abbess answered.

Larocy walked down the steps, and as she got closer, they could see that she had a device in her hand. It was metallic, and looked to Martha like an electric shaver, of the sort used by men on Earth. It fit well in-hand, and was wider on the upper end. It had roundels that seemed made for transmitting something. She, of course, had no idea what it was for, but she could tell by the look on the Doctor's face that he knew exactly what was about to happen.

Larocy walked up to the Doctor, and when she was about ten feet away, she aimed the roundels surface at him, and pulses of white energy of some sort came forth in rings. Four rings passed through the Doctor, while he stood there, not seeming to be in any pain, nor to feel anything at all.

The pulses stopped, and Larocy seemed to look at readings she'd taken on the device.

"The subject is unmarked," she reported to the Abbess.

Abbess Alissem smiled slyly at the Doctor and said, "Wonderful. Ms. Jones, you've done well keeping this one under control, _friends _though you may be. Larocy, please escort the subject and Ms. Jones into the waiting room."

"Really, ma'am?" Larocy asked.

"Yes. I see no reason why he shouldn't spend a bit of what are probably his last hours of freedom with his _companion_."

Martha and the Doctor followed the blonde woman through a door, and down a hallway, into a spacious sitting room. They were told to make themselves comfortable, that the next test would be ready for the Doctor in the next hour or so.

"Whoa! What the hell, Doctor?" Martha cried as soon as the door was shut. "Are you just going to let them do this?"

"For the moment," he replied. "It's telling me what I wanted to know about the planet, and also… I don't see that we have much choice."

"She wants to marry you!"

"Yeah, I got that, thanks," he said to her. "Why are you so surprised? It's not like she's the first."

"But what was that test?" she asked. "What do they mean, _you're unmarked_?"

"Oh, Martha," he groaned. "Really, can we just leave it?"

"Why?"

"Do you have to know absolutely everything?" he whined.

"Yes! As it happens, I do! What the hell is going on, Doctor?"

He sighed, and broke eye-contact. "Larocy used a device that measures certain types of experiential energies," he said.

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Everything we do creates an imprint on us. In a roundabout way, it's tied to alternative realities. Every choice we make, every food we eat…"

"…leaves behind _experiential_ energy?" Martha asked. "That's mental! Like a quantum-level record of every detail of your life?"

"Well... yeah. Blimey, you're clever. Anyway, the device is a way of reaching across quantum barriers to read whether people have… _done_ things. In some parts of the universe, the device is used to find out if you've committed a crime. Causing harm to another, as you might have guessed, leaves a really noticeable imprint."

"So, the Abbess is trying to find out if you've _done _something, before she can marry you?"

"Yeah."

"Like what?"

He looked at her squarely. "You need me to tell you?"

"Yeah, clearly I do."

He gave a curt growl of exasperation, and then, "Think about it, Martha. On your planet, the gender roles used to be like they are here, but reversed. Imagine the Abbess is a powerful man, say, fifty or sixty years before your time, and I'm the hapless woman who's been railroaded into marrying him. What _experience _would he want to know I've _not _had, before marrying me? Especially if he's royal, as the Abbess is?"

Martha's eyes went wide. "Ohhhhh! Oh my God!"

"Yep," he sighed.

"So, unmarked means…"

"Don't say it."

"…you're a virgin?"

He groaned, and pulled one hand down, harried, over his face. "You said it."

She frowned. "Seriously? In nine centuries, you've never… that can't be true. The device got it wrong."

He was now pacing around in a lazy circle, avoiding eye-contact again. "Actually, as it happens, _this body_ is unmarked. Mind you, I've only been in it for a few years." At this point, his voice started to mount. "Been busy, you know? With _other _things of importance! Previous incarnations would not have passed the test!"

"Don't yell at me - I'm not judging."

He lowered his voice back to normal. "Sorry. Regeneration is a kind of quantum process itself, so it messes with the experiential energy 'record,' as you put it, and doesn't know what to do with it when the regeneration process is over. So it basically just wipes it all away. Which, to be honest, I didn't even know until now, but as I think about it, it makes perfect sense."

"So you weren't sure what would happen when she aimed that thing at you?"

"I thought it could go either way," he shrugged. "Turns out, it went the way I didn't want it to go."

"If you hadn't passed the test, would she have just said, 'well, thanks anyway,' and let you leave?"

"Presumably."

"Really?"

"Well, otherwise why bother with the test? What could she do to me? Erase the experience? Keep me prisoner as a liability?"

"So what's next, test-wise?"

"I imagine things like DNA, fertility, general knowledge…"

"Couldn't you just fail the general knowledge test on purpose?"

"It's another scan, Martha," he said. "Not a pencil-and-paper test. They'll zap me again and be able to tell what I do and do not know. I imagine they're just now reprogramming the scanner."

"Well, shit. What do we do?"

He sat down on one of the sofas. "I suppose we wait until nightfall, and see if an escape opportunity presents itself."

"So what do I do? Let them pay me off, and pretend to go away?"

He thought about this. "I think so. If you protest, they'll put their guard up and make it a lot more difficult to get out of here."

"And you will have to be docile," she reminded him. "Don't let on that you have any desire to _challenge the status-quo_."

"Nah, I'm too pretty for that."

"Why don't you give me the sonic? They'll take it from you if they find it on you, and you know they'll search you."

"Good idea," he said, handing it over. "Guard it with your life."

"You don't have to tell me twice."

* * *

**Okay, so the social commentary is heavy-handed, but the point is made, no? Can you tell what's going to happen?**

**Thank you for reading, and don't forget to leave a review! :-)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi all! Well, I said I was anticipating two parts to this story, the proverbial setting up in part 1, and the knocking down in part 2. As it turns out, there's more set-up than I thought there would be. Looks like at least 3 parts, if not more, especially if we're expecting closure on this whole "Lasha" consort business. *shrug* It got away from me.**

**Well, on with the show! This chapter is SFW, but I make no promises about the next one! Be intrigued... and enjoy! :-)**

* * *

PART 2

Armed guards had escorted them from the sitting room, and had been with them ever since, all the way through the Doctor's battery of "tests." They guarded the exits as people came and went, and made sure, of course, that the Doctor could not become one of those who "went."

And now, Martha Jones stood on a balcony beside Abbess Alissem of the Nysted Lasha, watching a match in progress below. Behind them, there was an elegant parlour, attended by servants, refreshments being kept filled, priestesses coming and going, chatting amiably, occasionally tittering over Martha and/or the Abbess. There was definitely some excitement in the air, and Martha could guess why.

"They're enthused that I will be marrying," the Abbess told Martha, unnecessarily.

"I see," Martha replied, also unnecessarily.

The Doctor was on a pitch below, playing a game that resembled polo, with three other men. He sat on the back of a bovine-like animal that had the bulk, but not the sleek grace, of a horse, wearing a helmet and wide shoulder guards, and wielding something like a very long hockey stick. Watching the proceedings, Martha came to the conclusion that much like the obsession with power and possessions, sport must be the same, the universe over. Get the ball into the net. Keep the other team from getting the ball into the net. Take a break, repeat.

"I've seen more adept players," the Abbess sighed, watching the Doctor.

Martha could see, without knowing anything about the game, that the Doctor was having a hard time smoothly guiding the animal he was riding, and had absolutely no skill at aiming the ball at anything.

That was when the Doctor happened to get lucky and hit the bright orange ball with a big _thwack_, and somehow it went straight past the goal-minder and into the net.

"Thank the gods," Abbess Alissem said. "I was beginning to wonder if he'd ever… well, just more evidence that he's not been properly reared. But we shall fix him."

"It's his first time playing, give him a break," Martha replied.

Immediately, she wondered _what the hell am I doing? Do I really want to convince her that the Doctor is worth her time?_

Absolutely not. The last thing she wanted was for Abbess Alissem to decide that she liked the Doctor even more than before.

This bit of relative down-time, and this train of thought, led Martha to allow herself to acknowledge her true feelings on this situation. Her actual emotional palette today ranged from fear to disgust to jealousy. Fear of what would happen to her friend, and what the future would bring, disgust at how half of the population was being treated on this planet…

And, ah, jealousy. That old familiar friend that tended to follow her about whenever she was with the Doctor. Whenever he flirted with other women (which was often, though a lot of the time, it was just to get information), whenever he talked about former companions, whenever she watched him retire to bed by himself… and indeed, whenever she _thought_ about him with anyone other than her.

Although oddly, today, she had learned that the Doctor as she knew him had never _been with _anyone at all. The tall, thin, sharp-featured, spiky-haired man who wore a pinstriped suit, Converse trainers, and had a mouth that made her want to melt into a puddle on the floor… he had never been touched intimately. Never "marked" by anyone. That brain in previous bodies… it was not a different man, but in her mind's eye, he _was _different and distant, and it was all right to think about.

A myriad of thoughts now bounced about in her mind… including relief at knowing that even if she couldn't touch him, no-one else had either.

But, how was that possible? This incarnation of the man, he was a powder-keg of energy and passion, women (and men) noticed him, and he noticed them noticing him. And he clearly relished in the attention, so… really? Never snuck in an ill-advised shag with a stranger, just because he could? Just to test the handsome, sinewy waters?

Ashamedly, she also wondered… the Doctor has had sexual relationships before, even if _this_ body hasn't. That means, there must be centuries' worth of sense-memories in that brain of his, allowing for any skill he might have attained to be intact and ready to retrieve…

She mentally scolded herself, and tried to swat it away, but she could not. She could not stop herself wondering if he would have to relearn everything in this body, or would he be as deft and fiery as he is with everything else (excluding bizarro-polo, or whatever this game was)?

It didn't matter anyway. If things were to continue the way they were going, it would be the Abbess finding out the answer to that question, and not her. Again, not her, not Martha.

"Truth be told, the Gathering Council has not been impressed with my choice," said the Abbess.

"Oh no?" Martha asked.

"They've been sending me messages for hours, reminding me that he is _barely_ passing the tests devised as criteria for marriage to me," she sighed. "His DNA test designates his species as _unidentifiable, _which is only one step above _incompatible_, which would mean procreation is impossible. His sociological survey showed that he has a weak grasp of his place in the grand scheme of things… but not an _absence_ of a grasp, and he passes. In his biographical survey, he left many things blank, claiming not to remember, but reports that in spite of having had an elite education, he failed most of his exams. But because the Council was able to psychically verify his claims to an education from a well-regarded Academy, he passes."

Martha reckoned that this was by design. In fact, she assumed the Doctor had actually been _trying to fail_ the tests, as much as possible, but missed the mark. As she watched him on the back of a not-horse, playing not-polo now, she wondered if he really was as clumsy as he looked, or was he feigning awkwardness? She knew him well, and she knew how he moved… she suspected it was just a hard game, and a difficult animal to control. But what did she know?

"Curious," Martha inquired. "Why do you need to know if he can play… this game?"

The Abbess looked sheepishly at Martha. "This is the official sport of our order, and skill at it is supposed to signify virility, which is, of course, good for the future of the Order. I, personally, do not believe it," she confessed. "I don't believe there is any connection between the sport and virility. I believe it's a silly superstition."

Martha bit her tongue, fighting the urge to agree with her.

Instead she asked, "So, if the Gathering Council isn't best pleased with your choice, won't that cause problems down the road?"

"Probably," Alissem sighed.

"Then why bother? Hearing you talk, it sounds like the Doctor might be more trouble to you than he is worth."

The Abbess chuckled. "Oh, no," she sang. "He'll be worth it."

"But you've only known him for half a day," Martha protested. "Take it from me – he's difficult to live with. He's stubborn, and obsessive, sometimes thoughtless. He's mercurial and unpredictable. He's… a pain in the arse, frankly."

"And, as far as the Council is concerned, he's hanging by a thread," said Abbess Alissem, nodding along. "Many reasons to think this won't work out. But I'm determined. Just look at him."

Martha had, in fact, been looking at him for eight months. She saw exactly what Alissem saw, to be sure. But she could not let on.

"Yeah, what about him?" Martha asked, hoping she sounded convincingly nonchalant.

"He's quite a specimen," the Abbess answered, staring across the pitch. "I don't care about his DNA, or his education, and his social conscience can be corrected. I'm interested in the man, and what he's got that he can offer me, a woman. Do you catch my meaning?"

Martha looked at the Abbess, who winked at her conspiratorially.

"I do, yes," Martha said, non-committally.

"I think the Council will recommend that I find a better prospect, but I won't. This Doctor is chuffing amazing, in his own inexplicable way. Have you noticed how well he wears that suit?"

"It has been brought to my attention, yes."

"Of course you've noticed, how could you not? It tells me everything I need to know." The Abbess now wiped at her neck with a handkerchief in her hand, as though fending off a sudden rush of heat. Breathlessly, she said, "Oh, Martha… I'm so keen to get married as soon as possible. So very, very keen."

"I can see that."

The Abbess was blushing now, still following the Doctor with her eyes. Her voice came forth husky, carrying the weight of anticipation. "The wedding is in the works already, and will be a big, public ceremony that will be very boring… but I'm much more impatient to enter into the smaller, private ceremony which I'm anticipating will be anything but boring."

"Abbess…"

"Thank the gods, he is unmarked. Otherwise, there's no way they would let this happen."

"You can't override them, as the Abbess of Lasha?" she asked, though again, she had to internally admonish herself. _What are you saying? Shut up!_

"Not on this matter. It's in our constitution," said the Abbess. "For now."

"So, the Gathering Council have decided that a potential consort being _unmarked_ is the first priority?" she wondered.

"Yes," the Abbess shrugged. "He cannot bring outside carnal experiences to the marriage. The Council think this is detrimental to the marriage, and therefore to the Order, and the country itself."

"What about you? Can you be… marked?"

Abbess Alissem laughed. "I've been long-since marked. A woman can put aside with surety her carnal experiences, and can, if needed, focus on the man in her life. A man cannot do such a thing. The male resolve is much too weak."

"Hm. Okay."

"Don't tell me you've never been taught this."

"Oh… I'm from out of town. You know how it is."

* * *

The Doctor was dismayed to find that he had passed all of the tests, and had been contentiously approved (just barely) by the Gathering Council. He had done his best to fail everything he consciously could, and was genuinely surprised to find that the Abbess still wanted him on-deck for a wedding someday soon.

He resisted the urge to spit a curse when Larocy informed him, and he simply sighed. "All right, what's next?"

"Now, I show you to your quarters."

"And what do I do there?"

"Sleep. Wait to be told what to do next. Refrain from worry, as it sours your face, and affects your complexion."

The Doctor frowned. "Okay. Lead on."

She herself frowned in dismay at the expression on his face, but she said nothing about it.

She led him through the Lasha complex to a free-standing, cube-shaped structure, in the middle of a garden. Around the garden, there was a twenty-foot-high metal fence, adorned across the top with formidable-looking spikes. When they arrived at the garden gate, she used a black metal device attached to her hip to slip into a bizarrely-shaped slot, and create a doorknob, then she turned said knob and let them in.

The Doctor made note of the simple, analog security here. It was fully mechanical, though he could see that it was probably too heavy and tightly-wound for normal humanoid hands alone.

Going through the door to the actual building was less of a chore. The lock was heavy, but ordinary. It did have and electronic mechanism, but it was protected only by a four-digit code, which the Doctor had watched her type in. He hadn't caught the exact numbers, but he'd watched her hands move closely enough that he could, given a bit of time, work out the code.

Of course, all of these noticings were moot without the sonic screwdriver. It was in the hands of the cleverest person he knew, apart from himself. He would try his best to ply the system from the inside, but his hope really lay with Martha Jones, and her monstrous wits.

The inside of the cube was a spacious room with a high ceiling. Immediately inside, to the left, there was a sitting area, with two sofas, a coffee table and fireplace. To the right, there seemed to be a sort of recreation area, with several "board" games stacked up on the floor, a wooden plank upon which to play, and some cushions. Immediately behind that, there was some open floorspace, and a large bed with sturdy wooden head and foot boards. There were fresh flowers on the night stand. Behind the parlour-like area, there was a small kitchen and dining table. Along the back wall, there were two doors, one leading to a closet, the other to a washroom.

He was well-accommodated; they clearly wanted him to be, if nothing else, physically comfortable.

The room's décor reminded the Doctor of perhaps that of the United States southwest. Tapestries on the wall, the tablecloth, and floor cushions were made of a rough-hewn yarn, in shades of wine-red, burnt orange, and tan. The patterns were uneven, non-repeating stripes, and the effect was simple and homey. The sofas, decorative pillows, and bedspread followed the same chromatic scheme, but with a softer fabric.

"Nice," the Doctor commented.

"You'll find a stocked kitchen, clothes closet, and entertainment centre. Outside, the garden features seventy-six varieties of native flowers," said Larocy. "Anything else that you need, you may use this device."

She picked up a thing that looked like a conch shell made from red clay, and the Doctor recognised it as a communications transmitter/receiver, akin to a wireless telephone. Though, it did not have any info displays or buttons, so he assumed that it would allow him only to call one place. Presumably, this would be an office of some sort that would record his needs, vet them, and perhaps deliver. Perhaps. This would be part of Abbess Alissem's entourage of advisors, PR agents, et cetera.

"Erm, what about, if I want to, you know, leave?" he asked, already suspecting the answer.

She cocked her head sideways. "Why _ever_ would you do a thing like that?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "To explore the grounds, take some exercise, pretend I have a modicum of freedom?"

"Dear Doctor, you are a guest of the Nysted Lasha," she said, condescendingly.

"A guest, or property?" he asked.

"Why not both? Our governing laws deem it wise that an Abbess' potential consort be given the utmost of accommodations."

"So that I won't need to go anywhere," he said. "I see. But if I am to be the Abbess' consort, shouldn't I have a measure of self-agency? After all, will a small share of her power not soon be mine?"

"That will be up to the Abbess and the Gathering Council, once you are married," Larocy informed him. "But for now, we must follow the by-laws."

"Which means, I'm to hang out here, wait for orders, and try to stay pretty?"

Larocy smiled. "Exactly. Easy, right?"

"What if I get bored?"

"Let us know, and we will send someone to engage in board games with you."

"Oh, wonderful."

"Doctor, I know that you're used to Martha Jones giving you free reign to do more or less as you like, but that is not the sort of thing we do here on Nysted."

"Yeah, I'm getting that."

"Here, unlike with Miss Jones, you will be protected."

"Protected."

"Yes, especially at night," Larocy said, with a measure of exasperation. The Doctor knew they deemed him not 'well-bred,' and were humouring him reluctantly, every time they explained something he 'should' know. "Doctor, you know very well that men need to be protected."

"I do?"

"Yes! From themselves, mostly. These grounds are crawling with eligible sisters and priestesses, some of whom might not hesitate to betray the Abbess and throw themselves at you. It's horrible, but true. And you will be tempted – don't think you won't. And if you leave the grounds… oh! Just imagine what sorts of temptations are out there. A man's resolve is far too feeble for the consort-to-be to be left to his own devices. It's not his fault – men are simply not made to withstand the demands of the responsibly amourous life, and so, measures are taken."

"I see."

"Trust me, Doctor," Larocy said, moving toward the door through which they had entered. "Someday you'll thank us for this. See you later."

And when she left, she closed the door. Twenty seconds later, he heard the _clang_ of the high garden gate being shut and locked behind her.

* * *

At the same time, Martha was being shown to a room inside the main building. However, beforehand, she was given a quick tour of the complex, so that she could find what she needed therein. A "lesser" sister of the Lasha (rather than a priestess) was with her, and informed her as they walked that her accommodations were for one night only. Tomorrow, she was to receive payment, and would be given an allotted time to say her goodbyes to the Doctor.

"And that time will be?"

"Ten minutes, beginning at high noon," said the sister.

"All right. When's the wedding?" Martha asked her.

The woman was awkward and evasive with her answer, and ultimately responded that she didn't know. Martha interpreted this as, she _did _know, but had been instructed not to tell Martha.

No matter. Martha now knew that her deadline for working out how to get the Doctor out of this pickle was tomorrow at noon.

So, she needed a plan. What would the Doctor do?

For a start, he would pay close attention to the tour, and get the lay of the land, as it were.

And so she did.

"Is this an exit?" she asked, on one occasion.

The sister's overtly cagey reaction told her that she should also be paying close attention to, well, the sister's reactions to things.

She tried to channel the Doctor and ask a lot of seemingly daft, pain-in-the-arse questions, to catch her off-guard, and get a sense of how close to the vest they were keeping certain information.

And when it was all over, she decided she did not like the situation in the least. The sister they'd sent with her was a terrible liar, which worked in her favour, and let her know that she was being kept officially in the dark, concerning a great many things, and not just the wedding date. The sister lied about where the Abbess' quarters were, whether there was video surveillance, and about the Doctor being accommodated for the night, "Off-site."

"Just out of curiosity, what would you do with a consort who _did_ try to, as the Abbess put it, _challenge the status quo?_" Martha asked.

She asked this because it occurred to Martha that _if_ the Doctor did somehow get forced to go through with the wedding and live for a time as the consort to the Abbess, he would not do so quietly. He would be a poorly-behaved man, by the standards of this planet… and not even particularly consciously. Even if he could keep his mouth shut about the social injustice happening on Nysted (which was unlikely), just his personality would be considered problematic at the very least. Just in case it took Martha a bit longer to break him out, what could she expect to find? (She wondered if the Doctor would even bother asking a question like this, or would he have total confidence in his ability to have executed a brilliant plan before noon tomorrow? Whichever, _she_ did not have that kind of confidence.)

The sister chuckled as awkwardly as ever. "Oh, that will not happen."

"Why, is there some kind of Pavlovian electroshock therapy, if he doesn't fall in line?"

The sister's eyes opened wide momentarily, then she seemed to gather herself with some difficulty. "Oh, no, it's nothing like that. No shocks, no aversion therapy with armed guards or anything so daft. Just a carefully meted-out regimen of charm and history lessons." She smiled mirthlessly, and asked Martha to _step this way, please._

In the end, Martha was led to a place that very much resembled a standard hotel room on Earth – bed, credenza, night stands, bathroom. There was no television nor teapot, but it didn't matter anyhow. She was not required to remain in the room at all times, and so she would not.

What had she learned? The Abbess' quarters were definitely _not_ in the southern sector of the complex, there _was _video surveillance to worry about, and the Doctor was on-site someplace. And, if she failed, he would very likely be subjected to some sort of behavioural modification exercises, involving military personnel with weapons.

"Fantastic," she said to herself, as the door shut behind the sister.

But, she had all night, she had the freedom to roam, and she had the sonic screwdriver. All was not lost.

* * *

Night found Martha "out for a stroll" in the grounds of the Nysted Lasha's HQ. She had tested the sonic screwdriver, to see if she could unlock her own bathroom with it – and she could. The Doctor used the thing most often for opening doors, so she had been hoping it would still be set to perform that function, and it was.

But when she'd stepped out of her room, and went to the door at the end of the hallway that seemed to lead outside, it was locked, and the sonic did not open it. She knew from listening to the Doctor over the months that this probably meant it was deadlocked. Which meant that the Lasha were fairly savvy with technology, and at least somewhat paranoid about people leaving.

"But what if I did…"

She'd spied a surveillance camera in the hallway, facing away from where she was currently standing. She aimed the sonic at it. She knew that it was set to open doors and not to scramble electronics just now, but she hoped that if she was insistent enough with it, that any kind of relentless sonic pulse concentrated on the camera would short circuit it anyhow.

And she was right. It had taken a full ten seconds at close-range, but eventually, the camera sparked, and died.

"Brilliant!" she whispered to herself, feeling pretty smug. Recognising deadlocked exterior doors, a way to shut off surveillance… she had learned quite a lot already, and was still only standing about fifteen feet from her room. Thank goodness she'd been paying attention to the Doctor all along!

She stowed the sonic in her pocket, and began to explore, trying to find weaknesses, things she could exploit, in order to smuggle the Doctor out of here. She didn't know what exactly she was looking for, but she reckoned she might know it if she saw it. Some parts of the complex contained rather labyrinthine hallways, but the main hallways were easy to navigate, and formed, appropriately, a large triangle.

Once in a while, she tried a door, to ascertain whether all exterior exits were deadlocked; they were. The ones that led into the city seemed to be impenetrable. However, the ones that led to the outdoors, but into the courtyard area in the middle of the triangle, they were unlocked, and only about half of them were guarded. The other half were watched by cameras. She peeked out through those doors a couple of times, and noticed a large, cube-shaped structure that seemed to be in the middle of a fenced-in garden. She made note of it, assuming it was a caretaker's quarters, but other than that, thought not much of it.

Actually, she was glad to find that there were fewer cameras than she would have predicted, but less delighted to see that anywhere the cameras didn't cover, there seemed to be an actual, living guard. Armed, of course, and also humourless.

After a half hour or so, she came to what felt like the "service" end of the complex, where perhaps there might be kitchens, break rooms for staff, et cetera. She heard loud noises as though there were a large opening to the outdoors, and followed the racket.

She peered around a corner and found what seemed to be a loading dock. On the far end, a lorry-like vehicle was backing in, loaded, it seemed, with fruits. Closer to her, the Abbess and Larocy stood with their back to her, uninterested in the fruit truck, but clearly waiting for something to arrive. Martha pulled back quickly and hid, barely squelching a cry of alarm.

The two ladies made small talk for a few moments, and Martha listened, just to find out what she could learn. When she was about to give up on gleaning anything exploitable, she heard the Abbess say, "Ah, there it is."

"What is that?" asked Larocy.

"That's the Doctor's transport," said the Abbess.

"_That_ is how he arrived here?"

"Yes," said Alissem. "It was located an hour or so ago, in the unincorporated jungle, adjacent to the factory on the hill."

Martha peeked around the corner and saw, surely enough, a smaller, open-air lorry, backing up to the dock with the TARDIS sitting on the flatbed.

She cursed inwardly.

"So, what are _we _going to do with it here?" asked Larocy. "Appropriate it for the Lasha's use, I suppose?"

"No," Abbess Alissem said. "It has been examined, and seems to possess sentient qualities. It's too much of a risk for the thing to even exist, at this stage. If we're to proceed with the wedding, and the Doctor is to be broken in as an upstanding man of Nysted, the box will have to go to the incinerator."

"I see," said Larocy, sobrely. "Wise choice."

"It's the only way to proceed, if the Doctor is to leave behind his former life of… whatever wild abandon Martha Jones used to allow. The vessel could come looking for him!"

"Absolutely."

"I've already arranged with the Explosives and Incendiaries Squad to destroy it just after breakfast is served," said the Abbess.

"What will you tell the Doctor?"

"Well, for starters, I'll tell him about it after the wedding night. I don't want to upset him unduly until the marriage is consummated. And if I can delay telling him until after the honeymoon period, then I will do so. In fact, now I think of it, what he does not know will not hurt him. You know how men are."

Martha had to take a deep breath to keep from panicking.

_Damn it - the deadline's just got closer!_

* * *

**I realize the Doctor seems like a bit of a non-entity right now. He's going along with this thing because has faith in Martha, he's also trying to gather a bit of intel, and wait for the proper moment! **

* * *

**Thanks for reading... as usual, leave a review, s'il vous plait.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Okay, so... **

**We're going to drag this out a bit longer. It turns out that telling this story is taking a lot more WORDS than I anticipated! I thought it would be simple, but as things unfolded, I realized (not for the first time) that the logistics of a "must shag" story are complex. I also did not want our heroes to go from zero to a hundred miles per hour, as it were, in two seconds. There's a build-up. There are reasons. Conclusions have to be drawn, and I feel that I must show the process!**

**So, what I'm getting at is, the NSFW bit isn't until the next chapter! But the seeds are planted here... eek!**

**If you'll remember, when we left off, the Abbess and her Larocy are standing on something like a loading dock, watching the TARDIS arrive, and Martha is hiding around the corner, listening to their conversation.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

PART 3

Martha Jones had started out believing that she might have days in which to work out how to free the Doctor (not knowing exactly when the wedding was, and assuming she'd be able to stick around until then), plus possibly access to the Doctor himself, as a resource. Then, the deadline had got shortened to tomorrow at noon, when she was informed that she would be allotted ten minutes to say her goodbyes.

But then, she discovered clandestinely, that the Abbess was planning to have the TARDIS destroyed just after breakfast tomorrow morning, which shortened the deadline considerably, as well as making the situation much more dire. Trying to solve the problem before Martha was shut out of the grounds and/or the Doctor was forced to get married was one thing. Trying to solve it before the Doctor's most trusted companion died on a fiery pyre was a whole different question altogether.

_Come on, Martha, think, think think._

What was the order of operations here?

First and foremost, find the Doctor.

Secondly, work out how to get to him. She reckoned that once he was found, it wouldn't be too difficult to get into his quarters. They would surely have locked him in for the night, given their disdain for a man's ability to conduct himself (especially a man of the Doctor's ill bearing), but no doors other than those to the exterior of the complex had proven deadlocked.

Thirdly… well, this was the difficult part. How to get him out?

What were the options? Of course, the Doctor might have a few ideas of his own when she found him, but she reckoned she'd better come up with a thing or two to work with, especially since she was getting the opportunity to case the joint, which he had not had.

Possibly, they would be able to knock out the guards using a sonic pulse. In a human, this would be difficult to do without causing some sort of permanent damage - hearing loss, neurological interference - and she had to assume the same was true on this planet. She filed that idea away as a possible last resort.

They could use something heavy to break open the deadlocked doors, and make a run for it. But stealing something heavy enough, and hitting it hard enough, would attract attention, and they would surely be caught. Not to mention getting that far without being spotted, and/or possibly maiming a guard.

Maybe they could exploit their "goodbye" opportunity, and the Doctor could somehow sneak out with her. A possibility, if they played their cards very carefully, however, the TARDIS would be burned before then.

No viable ideas were coming to her, and she wanted to panic. Her instinct was to run, cover as much of the complex as possible so she could find the Doctor, but she forced herself to stand still. She told herself that in the absence of a concrete plan, the Doctor would stay and gather whatever intel he could.

And so, she peeked around the corner again, and risked a look at the Abbess, to make sure she and Larocy were still standing there.

She studied the back of the Abbess' tunic, and head. This magnificent woman was the embodiment of female power here on Nysted. And yet, she still answered to a Council, who did not want her to marry the Doctor… they were only allowing it on technicalities. She was powerful, but not all-powerful. She was sexist and spoiled, but not totally unthinking. Perhaps there was a way to appeal to her.

"I trust that our handsome guest has been appropriately installed in the honeymoon suite?" the Abbess asked Larocy.

"I did the honours myself, Abbess," said the priestess. "He is secured in quadrangle, well cared-for."

_Quadrangle? Interesting word usage. Especially since everything here is a triangle._

"How did he seem to you?"

"Agitated," replied Larocy. "But that's to be expected. Jitters, I suppose."

"I suppose," the Abbess sighed.

"Something bothering you?"

"Well, it's just… you know I'm very keen to get married."

"Yes."

"And I'm quite keen on the Doctor," the Abbess admitted. "And I'm ninety per cent certain he'll grow keener on me, as the wedding approaches, and even after that. Part of the equation will be getting Martha Jones and the TARDIS out of his life for good."

"Definitely," Larocy agreed, nodding along, knowingly. Abbess Alissem didn't say anything after that, so Larocy took the initiative. "I still don't understand what's bothering you."

"It's that ten per cent of doubt. What if he never becomes very fond of me? What if he's _one of those, _the type that can't be convinced?"

"Does it matter how _he _feels about _you,_ in the end?"

"Not according to the Council, but to me, it matters. I would like to have devotion and adoration, not just compliance."

"Forgive me, but perhaps you should have given him a choice, then," said Larocy. When the Abbess didn't say anything (Martha couldn't see them – she wondered if the Abbess had given her a disapproving frown or something), Larocy added, "Then again, it is only day-one. It's not to late to give him a choice… or simply to earn his love. Or, rather, convince him that you are to be, as you put it, devoted-to, and adored. You said yourself, it's a ninety-per-cent certainty."

"That was just a flippant comment. I don't know what the actual certainty is. Obviously, something like that cannot be measured."

"No, but I agree, it's around ninety per cent," Larocy offered. "You're powerful, beautiful, intelligent… what man wouldn't love you?"

"A strong-willed one. One who doesn't know his place, and isn't happy with the status quo."

"The Doctor only seems strong-willed on the surface," Larocy said, with no conviction whatsoever. "I suspect it's Martha Jones' influence."

Martha snickered at how utterly _wrong_ Larocy was about the Doctor… and she seemed to know it.

"Maybe," mused the Abbess.

"Abbess, are you perhaps thinking that the Doctor is not the one?"

"Maybe," repeated the Abbess. "He seems so externally perfect, and he has the superficial trappings of a good consort."

"Tall, handsome, poised…"

"And unmarked."

"Of course, unmarked."

"He'll look wonderful standing next to me on that balcony when we greet the city at the parade, all straight, and severe, and virile-looking," the Abbess sighed, almost wistfully, like a teenaged girl. "He'll be an immediately-recognisable sign that the Lasha is still in power. His presence will show that I intend to produce an heir, and that strong people support me."

"Indeed. But?"

"But the Council is so leery of him, perhaps more consideration should be taken. His bearing has been frighteningly unseen-to, his education has been spotty, even his _species_ is ambiguous. Plus, he doesn't even like me. What if he never does? What if he never passes the cotillion bit of his training? What if he never learns his rightful place? What if his presence here causes turmoil between me and the Council forever?"

"It _could _happen, but…"

"So, I guess my concern is, if all he ever has are the superficial trappings of a consort, then how could I expect that our relationship would ever be anything other than superficial?"

"If the union displeases you, then…"

"It does not _displease_ me," Alissem insisted. But the vehemence with which she interrupted Larocy's suggestion, and her seeming contempt for the word _displeases_ told a slightly different story.

_If all he ever has are the superficial trappings of a consort, then how could I expect that our relationship would ever be anything other than superficial? _the Abbess had wondered. Martha thought this was a surprisingly astute question for someone like her. Though, she did note, the Abbess' interest in the Doctor was pretty superficial. She had no knowledge (nor desire to have any knowledge) of his travels, his hearts, his _mind_ (oh, that formidable mind), his lot in life, his experiences, or even what he could offer her as a sentient (as opposed to just a sexual) being. She wanted a _companion_ without being willing to cultivate one, or even knowing that cultivation was a necessity - it was rather sad, actually. She had not yet come round to any sort of epiphany about what _she _needed to do to deepen the relationship, and perhaps _earn_ his "devotion and adoration." Larocy had hinted at it, but it had been almost immediately discarded in favour of merely _convincing_ him.

_All the more reason to get the hell out of here. Can't continue to just stand here… must move. Must find the Doctor in the…_

…_quadrangle._

She had already heard the women discuss the Doctor's installation in the honeymoon suite "quadrangle," and had noticed that it was an odd thing to say, in light of the fact that every structure on the premises was triangular.

Except for one.

In her exploration, she had noticed a singular building that was not triangular. Because it was in the middle of a garden, she had dismissed it as perhaps a supply shed, or a hut for the landscaper.

_Could that be it?_

A door to the middle of the three-sided building in which she currently stood, was just a few steps away. Doors to the outside, that opened onto the courtyard, were not deadlocked, and so, she quickly and discreetly opened it, and peered out.

There it was, just as she remembered. The cube-shaped anomaly in a sea of triangles, sitting in the middle of a lovely greened-in, flowered area, and bordered by a spiky wrought-iron fence. The light outdoors had more or less faded into night, and there was what looked like a single candle burning in the window. If she had known what to look for before, she might have known that this was not just a tool shed. It was clearly a place where _someone_ dwelled. The illumination from inside suggested warmth and comfort…

Knowing _who _was inside, she allowed herself to stare at the candle for just another moment and saw not just warmth and comfort, but also something like friendship… maybe love.

_Love_.

It's what the Abbess had been talking about a few moments ago, the thing she feared she would never have from the Doctor, though she didn't even seem to know how it works. She had never used _the word_ itself, but it was implied in her rhetoric, and the timbre of her voice. The concept of love was perhaps even as important to her as the Council's approval, and getting past the "superficials" of what made the Doctor a good consort.

Love. It's what everyone in the universe wanted.

It was something that Martha felt acutely each day, though it was not returned to her… at least not from the man toward whom _her _love was directed, the one in the quadrangle, the one who had lit that candle…

The one with whom, in spite of things, she had anything but a _superficial_ relationship. And she felt a vague sense of vindication.

And in those few moments, in this convergence of thoughts, a truth began to manifest… a solution to this little dilemma.

But it was just out of her reach. As though it were on the "tip" of her brain, but couldn't materialise just yet.

_Unmarked… superficial trappings of a consort… the Doctor's status hanging by a thread… the Abbess displeased…_

_Superficial trappings… honeymoon suite… love… companionship… cultivation… the Abbess displeased…_

To her right, coming from the direction of the loading dock, where she'd listened to the Abbess and Larocy discuss the Doctor, she heard a loud _thump,_ and then heard someone say, "Careful!"

A second someone said, "Why? We're just going to burn it."

She cursed under her breath, and looked in that direction. She saw the top of the TARDIS coming clumsily through a doorway, being driven sideways on a remote-controlled device. She hopped out of sight, as she reckoned (rightly) that the two women moving the thing, whose voices she'd heard just a moment ago, would follow the big blue box through the door. She stood and intermittently watched and hid while they manoeuvred the Doctor's ship bumpily around a corner, then continued with it down the corridor. She figured she should probably follow them, and find out where they were housing the Old Girl, so that she and the Doctor could make a run for it, with the correct destination in mind.

_Bust him out, and make a run for the TARDIS. Yes. It's what we do._

_It's what we do… we do… _

But the next ten minutes' events disheartened her a bit. She watched them install the TARDIS as it was, sideways, inside a room that was panelled all around with metal, including a floor that was little more than a barbecue grate. This was clearly a cremation chamber of some sort, and it was _terrifying._

She heard them shut the door, and discuss how and when to start the fires, and their voices disappeared down the hall in the other direction. She waited until she was sure they were gone, and then tried the door to the crematorium…

"Deadlocked! Shit!" she spat, resisting the urge the slam the sonic screwdriver against the wall.

_Busting him out and making a run for the TARDIS_ might prove a tad more complicated, if they were delayed by a deadlock, and racing against time and a room that would soon be filled with fire.

Given that she had absolutely no idea how long it would take to get into the Doctor's suite, she reckoned she'd better get a shift on. Now.

And suddenly, she found that her stomach was doing flips.

Sure, this little operation was life-and-death for the TARDIS, life-and-oppression for the Doctor, and life-and-trapped-forever-on-a-faraway-planet for her. But she'd been through worse. She'd solved harder problems in her time with the Doctor… why was she nervous now?

She found another door leading to the courtyard, and studied again the building known as the quadrangle.

Her stomach did another flip.

_Honeymoon suite… the Doctor and I, it's what we do… the Abbess displeased… superficial trappings…_

She shook off the nervousness, and began to explore the periphery of the courtyard – the shadows cast by the building, and the moon.

She managed to find a totally shadowed-over path to the centre of the courtyard, and snuck her way out there. But when it came to the garden gate, she was out in the open moonlight, and had no choice but to risk it.

She wrapped her hands round two of the bars, and took a deep breath, noticing those nerves again – they were getting stronger. She was not walking into the belly of the beast. She was not in any immediate danger, and neither was the Doctor.

But she was about to see him, and she was excited, she couldn't deny it.

She was about to see him in _the honeymoon suite_…

"Ohhhh," she groaned, realising where the feeling came from. What was inside? Candle-light, warmth, comfort, the Doctor, and a bed.

_Honeymoon suite… the Abbess displeased… superficial trappings._

Her mind bounced around these three concepts, and then, of course, touched on the thing it always touched on when thoughts of the Doctor invaded it.

_Candle-light, warmth, comfort, friendship, love, the Doctor, a bed… the Abbess displeased._

And almost involuntarily, her palm smacked her forehead. "Oh, my God, I'm such an idiot!" she said aloud, because the answer to getting the Doctor out of here had just come to her.

And her nerves flipped harder than ever in her stomach. Her heart began to pound, and suddenly, she wasn't sure if she could get herself through the gate…

_Get it together, Martha! This is just a rescue – you've done things like this a hundred times! Stop behaving like a twitterpated adolescent, and start…_

"Martha!" she heard whispered from somewhere, interrupting her inner pep-talk. "Martha!"

She didn't have to search too long for the voice. It was, of course, the Doctor, leaning out the front door of the quadrangle, looking very worried.

"Doctor!"

"What are you doing just standing there? You'll be seen!"

"Oh… yeah…" she said, and she sonicked open the gate, relieved that this, at least, was solved with a simple sonic buzz.

She stepped inside, and tried to close the gate silently behind her. She made her way up the short path to the front door, and stepped inside.

The Doctor shut the door and grabbed her, pulled her off her feet and hugged her tightly, before she could even look around or get her bearings, or catch her breath, or calm her nerves…

"So glad to see you!" he said against her hair.

Her heart leapt, her stomach did another somersault. And of course, she hugged him back with gusto, so glad to feel that lean, explosive body pressed against her, the texture of his polyester suit, the roughness of the inevitable five-o'clock shadow.

"Glad to see you too," was all she could manage to say. It came out rather expressionlessly, however, and

He set her down on her feet, and that's when she looked around. To the left, in the back of the space, there was a kitchen area. It was in shambles. It seemed as though all of the appliances had been dismantled.

"Whoa, you've been busy," she commented.

"Yeah," he sighed. "I've been pulling things apart, trying to brainstorm ways of getting out of this situation, that doesn't require a bunch of interpersonal rubbish, which… I cringe thinking about it. Been wondering if there's a way out that involves technology, which plays right into my wheelhouse, but… yeah, it's daft."

"Daft?"

"To think this can be done simply."

"Ah."

"It's almost certainly going to involve more stupid tests, protracted charades with the Abbess, and an eventual _talk _that will absolutely drain my patience and hers, possibly break hearts, and is guaranteed to be totally excruciating for me, and everyone involved." At the end of this sentence, he had to take a breath, and he looked at Martha with despair in his eyes.

"It didn't occur to you to just… escape?" she asked him.

"That's what I was trying to do here," he said, gesturing to the messy kitchen counter. "I don't know anything about what kind of security they have here, so again, I was trying to brainstorm some possibilities. Barring that – and there's a good possibility that that is barred – we go into the aforementioned dopey, exhausting, _talking_."

"You're good at talking."

"Not about this sort of thing."

"_Touché_," she responded, agreeing completely. "Well, I've been allowed to roam the grounds, so I can answer some security questions for you, but you're not going to like it. There are cameras, though not as many as you'd think. In the absence of cameras, there are armed guards. Doors to the open-air courtyard are locked, but not deadlocked. However, there's bad news about exterior doors out of the premises."

"Deadlocked?"

"Yep."

"Damn it. Can't sonick 'em. Can't throw something heavy at them without causing a fuss. Can't incapacitate a guard without the risk of doing permanent damage… I guess we consider that a last resort, if we can work out how to get past the deadlocks."

"Last resort… that's what I thought, too. But, Doctor, speaking of deadlocks…"

"Okay, so I guess escaping this thing won't be through technology, but through interpersonal… _finesse_," he mused, pulling his hand down over his face. "Ugh. Martha, I might be doomed."

"Doctor," she said, putting her hands out in front of her in a _halt_ gesture. She took a deep breath, and told him, "That _finesse_ you're talking about will take days. Weeks, even. We don't have that kind of time."

"Why not? How do you know? Did they give you a wedding date?"

"No," she said. "But I watched them put the TARDIS into a crematorium, and schedule her death for tomorrow morning after breakfast!"

"What?" he shouted. "How did they even find her?"

"No idea. That's your department."

"Are you sure? Are you absolutely certain of what you heard?"

"Yes! I wouldn't say it if I weren't certain! And what's more, I will be paid at noon tomorrow for handing you over, and expected to leave the premises after that point. They think that getting rid of me and the TARDIS will free you of distractions and influences, and you can devote your attention to the Abbess."

"What the hell kind of sense does that make?" he asked, very loudly, aware that he was shouting at the wrong person. "Strip away everything I care about so that I will comply and be all beatific about it? Don't they know you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar?"

"You're missing the point, Doctor," she said. "You don't understand how little they think of you."

"I'm starting to," he said, beginning to pace.

"You're an object. She wants you, frankly, for pleasure, and to produce an heir. And as a totem of some sort. She wants you to be tall and severe and virile and show all of those qualities to the world while standing by her side… and that's it. There's been no consideration that you have anything else to offer, or that you might be an individual with passions of his own."

He ran his hand through his hair, then let it stop over his mouth in despair. Then he said, "I guess none of this comes as a surprise. It's just hard to hear."

"But listen," she said, grabbing him by the shoulders, and stopping him, mid-pace. "The good news about all of this is: you're an object to them."

"How is that _good _news? All it means is that they're less likely to listen to me."

She dropped her hands to her sides, but did not back off from the close-quartered exchange. She needed his full attention. "You're right, but it also means that the things keeping you here are... _superficial._"

"Superficial."

"Yes. It's basically all about sexuality. Your good looks, and the fact that you're, you know… unmarked. Everything else, you probably know, isn't impressing them."

He stared at Martha's face, and could see that she was going somewhere with this, but he didn't see it yet.

"What are you getting at?" he asked, genuinely intrigued.

"Breaking out of here is not an option right now, unless you can build an ingenious contraption out of kitchen appliance parts before the end of breakfast tomorrow, that gets us through deadlocks, cripples cameras, and gently incapacitates guards, not to mention gets us through to the TARDIS and out of here before they stoke the fire."

"Right, and…"

"So, our best hope is that the Abbess _lets you go_."

"Right."

"But your _interpersonal finesse_ will take too long, and won't work anyway, because she doesn't really think of you in an interpersonal capacity, and will not value anything that have you say."

"Blimey."

"But she does think of you in a superficial capacity, and she values certain _traits_, and... I know a way that we could undo one of them."

"Okay..."

"It's something I can do for you, Doctor. And given the circumstances and what we've got to work with, it might be the _only_ thing I can do for you."

It took the Doctor about four seconds to get there. His eyes went wide, and his mouth went slack. He looked at her with a mixture of contemplation and wonder. Ordinarily, his brain worked more quickly than that of anyone she had ever known. But right now, his entire cogitation system seemed arrested, trying to wrap itself around what she was saying, and the implications of it.

He uttered no words for a long enough time that Martha felt she might melt into the floor. She had ploughed through all of her feelings, all of her doubt, and had put this suggestion to him as confidently as she knew how – she had been impressed with herself, actually. She had not allowed in the possibility of rejection, the possibility that he would rather do things the hard way than entertain this solution. Until now.

* * *

**Hm. What do you think the Doctor will say next? ;-)**

**Leave a review - let me know!**


	4. Chapter 4

**I loved the review that suggested that Martha's suggestion had short-circuited the Doctor! I think that's correct, though sometimes a good short-circuiting is just what that stubborn man needs!**

**In a related story... okay, here we go! NSFW, obviously.**

**My only misgiving about this chapter is that I'm afraid they're going from zero-to-sixty, as it were, in far too little time. I'll be interested to know what you think of the progression of events, from talking to passion. How well does it flow?**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

FOUR

"Breaking out of here is not an option right now, unless you can build an ingenious contraption out of kitchen appliance parts before the end of breakfast tomorrow, that gets us through deadlocks, cripples cameras, and gently incapacitates guards, not to mention gets us through to the TARDIS and out of here before they stoke the fire. So, our best hope is that the Abbess _lets you go_."

"Right."

"But your _interpersonal finesse_ will take too long, and won't work anyway, because she doesn't really think of you in an interpersonal capacity, and will not value anything you have to say. But she does think of you in a superficial capacity, and she values certain _traits… _and I know a way that we could undo one of them. It's something I can do for you, Doctor. And given the circumstances and what we've got to work with, it might be the _only_ thing I can do for you."

It took the Doctor about four seconds to get there. His eyes went wide, and his mouth went slack. He looked at her with a mixture of contemplation and wonder. Ordinarily, his brain worked more quickly than that of anyone she had ever known. But right now, his entire cogitation system seemed arrested, trying to wrap itself around what she was saying, and the implications of it.

He uttered no words for a long enough time that Martha felt she might melt into the floor.

She feigned a laugh. "Okay, well, if we're just looking to undo something that she likes about you, maybe it's not the _only_ thing I can do. I mean, I could kill you, and hope you regenerate into Bozo the Clown or something. Or, I suppose I could use some kitchen tool to hideously disfigure you, but neither of those things seem as practical. And given the choice, I'd rather not inflict pain."

"Right," was all he said, not seeming to hear her at all.

"Doctor, look…" she began, swallowing hard, her mouth dry, her words coming out like sandpaper.

"It makes sense," he said, cutting off whatever uncertainty she was about to let spill out.

"It does," she said, trying to sound assured.

"It's a simple, brilliant solution. I don't know why I didn't think of it."

"Me neither."

"If it doesn't get us a full release, it'll get us halfway, at least."

Martha flushed. "Excuse me?"

He blinked at her for a few seconds and then realized what he'd said, and in what context. Now he blushed a bit as well, and corrected himself. "Oh, erm… what I meant was, it might not make the Abbess say, 'okay, well, thanks anyway, happy trails and all that,' but it will throw enough of a wrench into her plans that we'll have some wiggle room, as it were."

"Ah, I see. So... just so we're clear, Doctor, you're hanging by a thread with her Gathering Council," Martha said. "And we're talking about cutting that thread. And you fall… where? And into what?"

"We don't know, do we? But it's better than continuing to just hang there, _knowing_ full well what's coming, if we don't _do something_. With this lot thinking they've sealed my fate, a bit of the unknown is a welcome prospect right now, don't you agree?"

"Absolutely."

He wandered over to the arm of the sofa, and sat on it with his legs extended forward, arms spread with hands gripping the edges of the arm. He leaned contemplatively for a few moments, taking up the full space around him, as he almost always did. Then, after considering, he said, "Honestly, I predict that this little bit of rebellion will work well for an amiable release for me, given the power structure of this culture," he said. "Especially if we play our cards exactly right in the morning."

"Okay. I'll need some guidance with the... card-playing."

"Right. You came up with the first half of the plan. I'll think out the second bit – don't worry."

She nodded and didn't say anything for a few moments. Then she took a step toward him, was now within an arm's reach, and very softly, tentatively, she said, "Doctor…"

But she was distracted and cut short when very gently he took her hand. He toyed with her fingers, and seemed to examine them.

Eventually, he looked up at her and said, "It would change everything." His voice was rather ragged, but his eyes were solidly into hers. "You and me. Nothing will ever be the same again."

"I know."

"I don't know what that means yet – neither of us knows. We won't know until afterwards, and maybe even later on than that. Are you willing to accept that?"

"Yes," she said, trying to be calm. "Again, I wouldn't have said it if I weren't ready to back it up. Are _you _willing to accept it?"

He nodded. "I guess I've always wondered if we were headed down this road, just… didn't consider it might be like _this_."

"You've wondered… what?"

"Haven't you?" he asked, seemingly innocently.

"Yes, but, wait. You…"

"Ssh. Yes. Later," he said. "Later. We have years for that. For _this_, only hours. If you're certain." His eyes were wide, and dead serious.

"I'm certain," she whispered, and gulped hard.

"Martha, you've..."

"What?" she asked.

"I mean... you're what? Twenty-five? So you've, you know... done this before, yeah?"

"Yeah," she whispered.

"Thank Heaven for that," he breathed.

"But now that it's you, I'm just not sure... well, how to proceed. You know? I don't know what to do next," she said, with an uncomfortable chuckle.

"Aw, sure you do," he said, then stood up straight, grabbed both of her wrists, and pressed her palms to his chest. He winked at her, then held her hands against his lapels, moving backward, slowly toward the bed. She had no choice but to move with him. "Look at you taking the first step!"

"What are you doing?" she asked, half confused, half amused.

"What am I doing?" he echoed. "What are _you _doing? You're pushing me toward the bed, Miss Jones. I'm so green and fresh and stunned, don't even know how to react to something like this."

He said it flatly, with no hint of feigned despair. It made her smile.

"Oh, dear, I _am _rather forceful, aren't I?"

"You've breached protocol and presented yourself to me, and you know I can't be trusted to manage my own temptations," he said.

When the backs of his legs butted against the edge of the bed, he grabbed her around the waist, and planted a hard kiss upon her lips. After several seconds, he opened the kiss up, and their tongues met. He turned his head, deepening the kiss, groaning with enthusiasm and relief, and… joy?

"See?" he whispered, breaking the kiss reluctantly. "I'm innocent in this."

And suddenly, there they were. Right in it.

She smirked, feeling a little drunk from the kiss. She cleared her throat, and retorted, "It's not my fault that the priestesses failed to protect you. I'm clearly very aggressive. Doesn't everything about me just scream _diabolical_?"

Nothing about the way she spoke these words betrayed anything other than whimsy, but that's what made them so adorable.

"Mm-hm. I feel very threatened," he answered, and pulled her lips into his again.

This kiss lasted. And lasted. It was an expression of months and months of waiting, perhaps on both of their parts. It was the answer to a question, and the prelude to other answers… perhaps there was a question in the kiss itself. But as their lips moved against each other, and their tongues pressed together, and their arms fitted tightly round one another, there was no question now – only the prospect of what needed to be done.

What they _wanted_ to have done.

When he broke the kiss again, he said, very low, "You know we're going to have to play these roles in the morning, in order to actually get out of here."

"Hadn't thought about it."

"I'm the victim, of course," he said, licking the area just below her ear. "We'll make the bloody _status quo _work in our favour."

"Is that what you meant by _play our cards right in the morning? _The roles? I'm the predator, you're the blameless virgin who didn't know how to control his urges?" she asked, breathless with what he was doing…

"Mm-hm," he answered, distractedly. His lips and tongue were now probing at her jugular, and her head lolled back with a heated exhale. He was stirring and stoking her desire so easily, she could feel her senses blurring, and her body becoming more pliant.

"No offence, but you're not playing your role very well," she moaned, still leaning her head back, letting the tingling sensation he was giving her flow, make her throb, make her want.

He chuckled against her skin. "When I regenerate, there are things I have to relearn. Other things are… long-term."

"Thank Heaven for that."

He pushed her slightly away for just a moment while he took off his jacket and dropped it on the floor.

Then he said, "But you? Look how well you're playing _your_ role already."

"Erm…"

With that, he fell backwards onto the bed, pulling her down on top. She quickly found her metaphorical footing by planting her knees on either side of him, and pressing her lips down against his. These long, languorous kisses were too good to let go, too perfect to throw aside in favour of bigger fireworks. They would get there in due time.

And as minutes went on, and their tongues learned more and more about each other, and their arms and legs tangled, she melted gradually into abandon. Urgency and wanting were drawing her forward, and her power and personal agency were leaving her. The whole package that was the Doctor was dangerous enough, but his mouth was an absolute inferno. Just about every bit of slippery warm desire she felt was as a result of those lips, and what lay behind them. She had admired and coveted them for months upon months, and wondered if she'd ever have a chance to feel them on her, in some capacity other than a three-second snog to confuse a computer.

And she had wondered if she'd ever have a chance to put her lips on him. She had dared to fantasise about kissing him all over, running her hands through his hair, feeling the tensing and release of his muscles as she gave him a pleasant sort of torture… but she didn't want to get greedy. Although…

He had put her in charge for the sake of a role-play, and in her aroused state, she didn't mind at all. It was, perhaps, now or never.

So, she slid her hips backward to get at his neck, and as she did so, she found he'd grown hard below the waist – of course he had. His descent into desire had been parallel to hers. And if the unmistakable texture of his cock had not been an indicator, then his lascivious groan when she slid her hips over it gave it away.

She gave him a quick, knowing smile, and went to work on his neck. She'd felt that rough shadow against her own cheek many times, and had, of course, been sorely tempted to lick at it, find a sweet spot, and watch him unravel. Tonight, she actually did it. The texture and the salt, the sweet groan he let slip, and his hands tightening on her thighs… she found it all delicious.

Her lips moved down to his chin, and she gave it a quick kiss before tugging at his tie. She unknotted it, pulled it free and set it aside, and concentrated on unbuttoning his shirt. With each new button, she licked and nipped at the flesh underneath, and she actually did get to feel him tense and release, each time she moved, each time her body shifted.

When the shirt was completely undone, she pulled back, and stood up beside the bed. She made a slow task of removing her clothes – first her maroon tee-shirt, and then her boots, jeans, and undergarments.

He sat up and watched her as he unbuttoned his own cuffs and got rid of his shirt. When she was fnished, he exhaled noisily, looking her over, and said, "Oh… I think that's done it – I'm marked."

She smiled softly. "If you say so. Want to go a bit further, just to be sure?"

"Yeah, okay, you've convinced me," he said, whimsically, lying back down again.

She then held his eyes, and reached forward, unfastening the hook of his trousers, and pulling the zip open. She reached inside and freed his cock, which now jutted straight up from his body.

She indicated it and said, "Tsk, now, see? The Priestesses are right – you can't be trusted. Look at what's happening to you!"

"All your fault," he whispered.

She gave him a sideways smile, feigning disappointment in his moral character, then leaned forward and gave the offending organ a long lick from base to tip. His entire body jolted, and his voice broke out into the air in surprise.

"See? You liked that. I knew you were trouble," she said. "The Abbess was right to lock you up."

She unlaced his shoes and pulled them off for him, along with the socks, and threw them aside. She caught him watching her intently, so she smiled again, bent, and gave another lick, this time swirling her tongue two or three times around the head. He moaned, and almost involuntarily took firm hold of Martha's shoulder, squeezed, until the intense sensation died down, and Martha was standing upright again.

She felt powerful, vindicated.

She wanted to ask if each sensation was brand new in a new body, and his reaction to her was so strong because this body was still sparking from its novelty, and blazing with energy. But she decided to wait until later to start asking questions.

She lifted his feet and rotated his body forty-five degrees so that his head was nearest to the foot of the bed. She climbed up onto the mattress and knelt beside him, grabbed his waistbands and began pulling them down toward his knees. He lifted his bum off the bed, and allowed her to pull the rest of his clothes away. She threw everything to the floor and put her full attention on _the moment._

_This moment may never come again. He said it himself: neither of us know what this means, only that it will change everything._

So, if he was going to put her in the role of the aggressor, then she was going to play it. Just in case this was her only shot.

She found the tie she'd thrown aside a few minutes before. "Put your hands over your head," she said.

"Like this?" he asked, calmly, seeing what she was going to do, crossing his wrists near the footboard.

She bound them together, then tied them to one of the sturdy, oaken bars that lined the piece of furniture. He pulled at it, which only served to tighten the knots.

She knelt between his knees and said, "Don't do that, or we'll never get you free. You can't escape from the Abbess if you're tied to her bed."

And with that, she bent down and engulfed his cock in her mouth, guaranteeing a full-throated groan of practical torture from him, and that he would pull hard on his restraint.

This was a sensation, a sound, an odour, a flavour, a feeling of power, of being desired, of being wanted for something other than her brain, that she had been hankering for since they met. His organ stiffened even more in her mouth, and she tasted the salt of his flesh, and of the bit of ooze that escaped from him as she explored the thing with her tongue. She pulled her head back, and kissed the tip, with an answering groan from him, and then prepared to dip down and envelop it again. She anticipated the whole experience, and got ready to take it further to the back of her throat. She planned on pursing her lips even tighter as they closed over his cock this time…

…and when she did, she got precisely the reaction she wanted. A crackling expletive out of his mouth, and another hint of impatient, salty desire that he just couldn't keep in.

She did this a few times more, varying the pressure, the action of her tongue, and he, in turn, varied his responses, and language.

Ah language. He was a man of many words, and this event made no exception.

His language became very sense-based, graduating to off-colour, as desire for release grew, along with his _surprise_ at her skill and patience. It grew profane, even blasphemous (in some circles), as more minutes passed, and he wanted, more than anything else, to show her a rhythm. He wanted to burst. He wanted so badly to stop the mad teasing, the flicks and licks and flirtatious eyes, and the hard and the soft and the tight and the loose, the wet and the dry… it was all _amazing, _but if he had his hands free, he'd have her head in his hands, which was something he'd never dared do before, but he knew, in this body, with _this _woman, in this moment, these crazed sensations, that's what he would want, if he could…

And he didn't mean for it to happen, but his language grew filthy as he expressed it – it just tumbled out of his mouth, in the midst of this heavy, wet, drunken fog of lust, "Untie me – let me have you. Just _have you_."

He _almost_ regretted letting it slip… almost. It was such an indiscreet thing to say to a friend...

… and yet what she was doing to him was rather indiscreet in the context of friendship, wasn't it?

But they'd known that going in, that was the whole point: the friendship as they knew it was, along with their little bubbles of resolve, kerplooey.

To his relief, her response to his demand was to release his cock from her mouth with a wet pop, and smile at him. "Those can't be the words of an innocent."

"I'm not actually innocent," he growled.

"Shush, you. Just know that _that's_ not going to happen just now," she told him. "But the night is young."

She crawled up his body, parked both knees beside his hips, braced herself against is chest, and lowered herself down. When she was finished, every inch of him, all of it rock-hard, and waiting to explode, was lodged deep inside of her. She tilted her head back and moaned, indulging in the fullness, this intense, possibly unique, moment_._ She swivelled her hips a bit, causing a groan (and another colourful expletive) to come flying through his lips, and causing the tip of his cock to find an even deeper spot within her wetness.

She caught his eye and held it fast for a few seconds.

"Would you like me to start moving now?" she asked, her voice low and breathy.

"I'm corrupted," he said, also breathless. "I want so much more than that."

She gave him a sideways, wicked smile, leaned back with her hands on his knees, and began to move. Her hips pumped up and down, slowly at first, and she let out a little grunt each time the tip of his cock met that very sweet spot inside of her, as did he. Immediately, her body was thrown into high-gear, and she wondered if she could control herself in this role of aggressor…

… but in the end, she reckoned it didn't matter. Self-control was not in the cards tonight, so she threw it all to the wind. She listened to her body and what it wanted. She pushed harder, bore down more aggressively, forced him deeper and deeper into her, slammed her clit down against his body repeatedly, letting her groans become higher and higher-pitched, letting words as colourful as his leave her lips, until she had no choice but to brace herself for impact.

"Oh my God…" she breathed, unable to quite believe how hard it was all hitting her.

She lurched forward and gripped at his chest and shoulders, squeezed hard, and her body went off like fireworks. This orgasm was like a tide that went in and out once every second, flooding, then abating, flooding, abating, and back again. She throbbed all over, gripped in with her thighs, ground down with her pelvis working the tension out…

And then she opened her eyes. She panted. She watched him watching her. She saw the greed. She watched the hunger turn to something like frustration. She noticed him pulling at his restraint.

"You're just tightening the knot," she breathed.

"I can't stop," he groaned.

"Let's make it as tight as we can, shall we?" she asked.

So now, it was his turn. She caught her breath, and repeated what she had done before, only with _him_ in mind. She braced against his shoulders and moved, up and down, a bit of a grind, then up and down again… and she found a rhythm.

And it was a perfect one. Perfect everything. He'd wanted to show her a rhythm before, but now she had it. Maybe it was the fact that she'd brought him to the edge with her mouth already, and then he'd watched her build and indulge in an explosive treat for herself. But who cared? Because now, she'd found a complete combination of pressure, movement, hands, eyes, flesh, and personality… and she had him. In less than a minute, it was over.

He gave one last hissing cry, and his body arched off the bed, and took hers with it, as he felt total release. He crashed into her, filled her, felt completely hers, and if he wasn't mistaken, listened to her come again…

Because his body, his cry, his cock throbbing and pumping into her, it was like her senses were all exploding at once, and it gave her the same thrill and total release, for a second time, and they rode the wave in together.

And they rode it out together. Their voices had risen up in the room, and died down in tandem, and then, as it often did for Martha, laughter took them both. There was something so exquisite, and yet so absurd, about this act of bodily luxury, or relief, or "love." The revelations, the desperation, the crazed and ultimately fleeting pleasures.

So they laughed. She fell onto her side next to him, and continued panting, recovering.

In this position for a minute or so, she heard, "Martha?"

"Yeah?"

"You've got to untie me now."

She pushed herself up and looked at his hands. They were turning purple.

"Oh!"

She ran to the kitchen and came back with a pair of cooking scissors. She cut the Doctor's tie in a strategic place, and the knot came loose.

When it did, and she lay down beside him again, he turned toward her, and wrapped both arms around her. They were both sweaty and breathing hard, but neither of them cared. They just stayed pressed together, completely enjoying the moment, for now.

* * *

This tryst did not prove to be their only of the night. After their hearts had returned to normal beats-per-minute, and they'd had a bite to eat, and planned their morning "card game" with the Abbess, they returned to bed. Even though the mission had been accomplished, they sought each other again, and sunk into the sheets, finishing out the night giving and taking pleasure and satisfaction, and challenging the status quo.

Just before dawn, Martha awoke to an unpleasant ringing. She turned it off, then indulged in a moment or two, watching the man she loved draw breath and let it out again.

Eventually, she had to get things moving...

"Doctor?" she whispered to the slumbering Time Lord. "I have to go."

They had been asleep no more than two hours, but time was time, the alarm had sounded, and they still had a plan to execute.

"No," he groaned. "Please don't." He found the groggy wherewithal to launch himself forward and pull her back down under with him.

"I have to."

"Stay another five minutes."

She kissed him first on the lips, then on the neck. Between hot, progressive kisses all over his neck and shoulders, she said, "When we get your TARDIS back, if you want me to, I'll stay tangled in sheets with you forever. Honestly, I would love to get lost in here, and die happy. But that will never happen if we dawdle here. We'll get caught, and all hell will break loose."

"Ugh," he grunted. "Fine."

They both got up, they went back over their plans a they dressed, and tried not to think about what would happen if they did not succeed.

Finally, he walked Martha to the door, and she reached for the knob, and stopped. She turned and looked at him, lingering.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, just trying to savour the moment. Once I walk out this door, _this _will be over. And like you said, nothing will ever be the same for us, and we don't know what that means."

He took two steps forward, and pressed her between himself and the door. He took her cheeks and neck with both hands and kissed her hard.

"I know what it means. Do you?" he said, low, growling, sincere.

By way of an answer, she gave a beatific smile, and said, "See you on the other side."

* * *

**I'd like to know what you think of it all! So don't forget to review, and make me very, very happy!**

**As you may have guessed, one more chapter is coming, in which our heroes will attempt to wriggle free of the Doctor's captors! Thanks for reading!**


	5. Chapter 5

**And now, the thrilling, touchy-feely, and I hope somewhat surprising conclusion of "Marked." You may remember, the Doctor very happily allowed Martha to ruin his chances at marrying the Abbess... and it is now _the morning after. _Let your heart be warmed! Enjoy!**

* * *

FIVE

The Doctor walked Martha to the door of the Quadrangle, and she reached for the knob, and stopped. She turned and looked at him, lingering.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, just trying to savour the moment. Once I walk out this door, _this _will be over. And like you said, nothing will ever be the same for us, and we don't know what that means."

He took two steps forward, and pressed her between himself and the door. He took her cheeks and neck with both hands and kissed her hard.

"I know what it means. Do you?" he said, low, growling, sincere.

By way of an answer, she gave a beatific smile, and said, "See you on the other side."

Martha made her way back to the entryway of the complex, where she and the Doctor had first come in. She used the button she'd seen Larocy use the day before, to call for assistance.

Larocy herself appeared within a minute. "Miss Jones, good morning."

"Hi. I came to ask for my payment early. I don't need to say goodbye – it'll be too painful. So, can you just give me my money and let me get on with my life?"

A bit surprised, Larocy answered, "Oh! Well, let me speak with the Abbess."

Martha waited another five minutes or so, before Abbess Alissem herself appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Miss Jones," she said, grandly, smiling widely. It was clear that today was a big day for her, and she was looking forward to what was to come. After all, today was the day when she was supposed to have the Doctor all to herself, and formal wedding plans could begin. This was good for Martha – all part of the plan. "Leaving so soon?"

"I'm afraid so," Martha said. "I'm fine with not saying goodbye. I think it will just make things harder if we have a big formal _event_, you know, where we hug and cry, and finally realise we won't be friends anymore… so I'm just going to leave."

"Well," the Abbess said, graciously handing her a piece of paper. "Here is your compensation. I know nothing can really compensate for the loss of a friend, but it's a start. And please know, you're doing something good for the planet."

"Right," Martha said, glancing at, apparently the cheque the Abbess had placed in her hand. She had no idea whether this was a large or small amount of currency – it didn't matter, of course. "Well, thanks."

"Thank _you_, Miss Jones," said the Abbess. "The Doctor is a fine specimen. I look forward to our life together."

"Yes, he is," Martha agreed.

And with that, she walked easily out the front door of the Seat of the Nysted Lasha.

* * *

A priestess knocked on the door of the Quadrangle, not long after Martha left. She gave the Doctor instructions as to how, where, and when to appear at breakfast.

"Also, the Abbess has some surprising news for you, and wishes you to brace yourself before arriving," said the priestess.

"Oh. Okay," the Doctor said, acting confused, but knowing that his 'betrothed' was going to tell him that Martha Jones had departed early, without saying goodbye.

And so, the Doctor showered, dressed (without a tie, as it had unceremoniously cut through the middle, the night before), coiffed, and headed out the door to breakfast, following the priestess' directions toward the informal dining room.

He took a couple deep breaths before walking in, and prepped himself for the _role_ he needed to play. "Okay, Doctor. Quiet, shy, reluctant to speak. Against every instinct you have, yeah? Yeah, here goes nothing," he muttered.

The room was, oddly, oval-shaped. Opposite, there was a rounded balcony with Corinthian columns, open to the outside world, and a lovely breeze was blowing the drapes inward. In the middle of the room, there was a table set for about a dozen. A few people had yet to arrive, but most were already seated, including the Abbess, right in the middle.

"Good morning, Doctor," she sang.

"Erm, good morning," he answered with a frown. Then he diffidently turned and shut the door carefully behind him.

He walked toward the breakfast table, and to his surprise, the Abbess actually stood up from the table, and met him halfway.

She took his hands, and he stared at his feet.

"Darling," she said. "I'm afraid I have somewhat distressing news. Are you all right to hear it now, or would you like to eat first?"

"Erm, no, I'm all right to hear it. What's happened?" Briefly, he looked at her face, and then pointedly looked away.

"I'm afraid that Martha Jones has gone already."

"Oh. Oh, dear," he said, frowning deeply. "Why would she do a thing like that?"

"She said that saying goodbye would be too painful, and she preferred just to make a clean break. I'm sorry, darling."

He risked a straight-on look at her, and then, uncertainly, he said, "Y-yeah, I suppose she was right… maybe."

"I know you depended upon her a lot, Doctor, but that's what I'm here for now," she said. "I'm here to take care of you, see to all of your needs, and… what's wrong?"

"Hm? Nothing."

"You're a little bit heartbroken, aren't you?"

He smiled rather bitterly and said, "Yeah, you could say that! How could she just…"

"Oh, now now," the Abbess lulled, leading him toward the table. By now, everyone was sat, and waiting for them. "Let's have a spot of breakfast, that'll make you feel better. And then, we'll take a walk in the gardens, and if you'd like, you can tell me all about Martha, okay? Tell me everything – you deserve some closure."

"Can't tell you everything," he muttered, sitting down at the seat indicated to him, across from the Abbess.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing."

Larocy then stood from her seat and introduced everyone at the table – all women, except for him. They were all members of the Abbess' inner circle, acting as advisors, assistants, managers, and whatnot.

"This is the standard breakfast line-up," Larocy told him. "You'll take your first meal of the day with this lot daily, unless the Abbess decides otherwise."

"Great, thanks," the Doctor said.

"Honestly, darling, you seem disturbed," the Abbess said. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Fine," he said, arranging his napkin in his lap for an overly long time.

The Abbess frowned. "You know, it's not just your mannerisms… there's something else that's different about you."

"Nothing is different," he said, looking her in the eye now. "I'm the same as I was yesterday."

"Now you mention it," Larocy said, staring at him. "Something does seem _off._ Are you feeling well?"

"I feel fine," the Doctor said.

"Can anyone else see it?" the Abbess asked the breakfasting group. "Is there a changed quality to the Doctor this morning?"

There were lots of murmurs of assent, and the Doctor feigned a bit of subtle, but detectable, panic.

"I'm not changed, I swear," the Doctor insisted. "Let's just have our breakfast, okay?"

Suddenly, the Abbess' eyes went deadly wide. She stood up slowly, never taking her eyes off him.

_She knows_, he thought, and he continued to stare anywhere but at her. He would have very much liked to stare her down and let her know unequivocally that she could not control his destiny, but he had to remain calm and in-character.

"Larocy," the Abbess said, tightly. "Please test his experiential energies again."

"What?" the Doctor asked. "No, there's no need for that! Everything's fine! Had a quiet night alone… very quiet night."

Larocy now looked at him the way the Abbess was. She too stood up slowly, and as she did so, she said, "Oh, no."

"Larocy? Now," the Abbess ordered.

Abbess Alissem never took her eyes off the seemingly reticent Doctor, and one could hear a pin drop in the room, as everyone held their breath, waiting for Larocy to return with the device.

When she did, she quickly aimed it at the Doctor and performed the test again.

"Marked," she spat at the Abbess.

"Try again," the Abbess said, still unmoving.

Larocy obeyed.

"Same result," she said.

The Abbess' mouth and jaw tied up into knots, and when she spoke, it was with total venom in her voice. "Martha. Jones. Get her back here. Now."

"She left over an hour ago, Abbess," Larocy protested.

"Then get the Chaser Squad on it! There will be justice!" said the Abbess.

"The Chaser Squad? Are you certain?" asked a priestess.

"Yes!" growled the Abbess. "She has grossly breached protocol, and interfered with the will of the Lasha!"

The priestess hurried off, presumably to summon their law-enforcement resources.

The Abbess then came around the table, took the Doctor's hand as though he were a child, and said, "Everyone, please excuse us. We need a word. Breakfast is delayed one hour – see you all then."

He allowed her to lead him onto the balcony, and then watched as she shut all of the doors. They were now alone.

It did not escape the Doctor's notice that this was actually the first time he and the Abbess had been alone together, and it might have been the first "conversation" they had had. Already she felt entitled to call him _darling_?

"I'm not pleased, Doctor," said the Abbess. She crossed her arms over her chest, and asked, "What happened?"

He shrugged. "Martha found the Quadrangle, last night, and I let her in, thinking everything would be fine. Next thing I know, she's pushing me toward the bed…" he said, trailing off, then gulping.

"Damn it!" the Abbess cried out, slamming her hand down on the balcony's railing. "You let her in?"

"Well, yes. She's my best friend – what did you expect me to do?"

"Follow the rules! Do what you're told!" the Abbess shouted. Then she sighed with exasperation, and said, "Well when she seduced you, did you at least _try_ to resist?"

"I tried, for a time," he said. "But…"

"No, no… never mind, darling, I'm sorry," she said, coming toward him now with her hands outstretched. For a moment or two, she held his face in her hands, then let go. "Martha is no doubt experienced, definitely attractive, as well as cunning and clever. It's not your fault – she's victimised you. You understand that, don't you? You understand that what _she _did was wrong."

"I did it too," he told her. "And… well, I enjoyed it."

"I'm sure you did, that's part of the problem, Doctor," the Abbess said. "We failed to protect you from yourself, and from her… from your own libido. And she took advantage of an unattended man. Rest assured, she'll be punished for interfering with the Divine Right of the Abbess."

"Punished? Why?"

"Divine Right is Divine Right. You were unmarked, and belonged to me. Your body and experiential residue and desires, they were mine for the making and taking when I saw fit, and she tore all of that down."

"Wow," he said, marvelling at the arrogance and ignorance.

The Abbess sighed. She walked around in a circle, having difficulty with the next bit of her rhetoric. "Doctor, I'm sorry to say, you didn't pass a great many of the tests with flying colours. Our betrothal was not stable, as it was. I was very keen to marry you because I think you would have made a strong consort, and I was excited to be with you, and teach you the ways of the flesh. But though I am a powerful woman, I do still have to answer to the Gathering Council, and they were not as taken with you as I was. The fact that you were unmarked, this was one of the few things keeping it all together, and now… I'm afraid Martha Jones has ruined that for us. Our marriage cannot happen. I'm so sorry, darling."

"Well, Abbess, I'm sorry for you."

She smiled sadly. "I would say, call me Alissem, but I'm afraid that's not to be, now, as you will never be my husband. To be honest, I think you should have a difficult time finding a wife, now that you've been used."

"Really?" he asked, though more scepticism came through in his voice than he'd meant.

"Yes," she said, very seriously. "And with that in mind, Doctor, may I install you in new quarters here?"

"Excuse me?"

"I can't marry you, but I can't just send you out into the world the way you are. You have weak control over your own urges – I wouldn't like you to pollute yourself further. And being cared-for now will be much harder, since no-one is likely to want you. Martha Jones must answer for her crime, so I'm afraid that leaves you on your own. You are welcome to stay in the Lasha, in new quarters."

This, he had not foreseen.

"Oh, Abbess, I don't think I could do that – it might evoke too much pain, too many reminders of my own shortcomings."

"Don't think like that, darling."

"I'm just going to go. I'll be all right."

"Well, I can't force you to stay," she sighed. "But I wish you'd reconsider."

"I'd rather be on my own."

"All right, if you insist."

"And Abbess?"

"Yes?"

"Was my TARDIS, by chance, brought in from the jungle last night?"

"It was."

"May I have it back?"

And that's when a uniformed woman poured through one of the balcony doors, and interrupted.

"So sorry, Abbess, but… Martha Jones has been brought in. Would you like to see her?"

"Yes," said Abbess Alissem. "I do want a word with that one."

"Right away, ma'am," said the officer.

"That's Cenena, my head of security. Things are in motion," the Abbess said to the Doctor.

"Abbess, can't you just let her go? I'd be very happy if you did that," the Doctor said. "She and I can go back to the way things were."

Saying this phrase caused a sense memory of the previous night… Martha's mouth, his words, their combined heat, and all other paralysing charms. A rush of lust seized him, and he had to concentrate, in order to shake it off. Indeed, as they'd said last night, they would _never_ go back to the way things were.

"She's an enemy of the law, Doctor," the Abbess reasoned. "She broke protocol, presented herself to you knowing full well that men are fragile creatures, no doubt she _enjoyed_ your passions, and then she took payment and left without saying goodbye. Thus, she mars you, and our betrothal! That kind of brazenness cannot go unpunished."

"Not even as consolation to me?"

"I'm sorry. Not even for you. I will find someone to escort you to your TARDIS, if you absolutely need it back, but I'd like to implore you one more time to _stay_ and let us look after you."

"I can't do that."

She walked toward him once more, and took his head in her hands. She pulled him down for a kiss that, at some time, in some place, might have been passionate and compelling. To the Doctor, it was just a bit cold.

There were tongues. There was a little moan from her. She was clearly keen…

But given who waited for him in some part of the complex, in captivity, and what waited for _them _once they were both free, he just waited for the kiss to end.

The Abbess pulled away, and seemed to squirm a bit. "Wow," she said, with a low, husky voice. Shaikly, she made another offer. "Doctor, erm… would you stay not as my ward, but as a concubine? You would be well-paid. I'll search for another husband, and you…"

"No, sorry."

"We will build you a…"

"No."

"No, of course not," she said, straightening, clearing her throat. "Didn't hurt to ask. Come this way."

With that, she took the Doctor by the arm, and led him back into the breakfasting area, where numerous priestesses, including Larocy, still stood about, tittering about this turn of events.

"Sariah, please cancel the destruction of the TARDIS, and escort the Doctor back to it," the Abbess said. Then she exited the room with Cenena, the officer who had apparently been involved in detaining Martha, and turned left.

Sariah moved over in the Doctor's direction, and asked, "Are you absolutely sure you need it back?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so," he said, now aware that the clock was ticking. He had no idea what the Chaser Squad had in its bag of tricks as far as interrogation methods, but he didn't much care to find out. The Abbess was pissed off, and Martha was in trouble.

"Because, I'm sure that the Abbess offered you a room in the complex."

"She did, and I declined. My TARDIS, please?"

"I must tell you, Doctor," said Sariah, who looked to be about twice the Abbess' age. "I don't approve of men having their own modes of travel."

"I'm sorry you feel that way."

"You're not one of those Men's Rights nutters, are you?"

"Don't be silly," he replied, though he did not say _no._

"Good. If I were the Abbess, though, I would have you stay. She is young and of the new ways - she can be too soft. Her hand is not firm, her ideals are too grey at times."

The Doctor had thought, in fact, that he'd recognised a bit of what Sariah was discussing, in the Abbess when she was trying to persuade him to stay.

Sariah went on, "Only, I'd have you stay not just for your own good, and to protect you from unscrupulousness outside the complex. I'd have you stay because I think you need punishing, as well."

"Do you have any authority to decide that?" he asked.

"No," she admitted. "I just thought you needed to know my opinion."

"Duly noted. May I have my TARDIS back, Sariah?"

"Very well, one moment," she said. She then sighed heavily, and pulled a comm device from her belt. She went through several different people, apparently, before she found someone who could stop the countdown on the TARDIS, and she did not hurry in the least.

The Doctor was agitated, but tried not to show it. He needed to be obedient and well-ordered, otherwise they would know he was planning something, and would never allow him to leave.

"Right, well, follow me, Doctor," said Sariah, reluctantly leading him, apparently, to the TARDIS.

For his part, the Doctor felt there was only a fifty/fifty chance that she was actually leading him where she said…

… but she did. After a few twists and turns down the hallways of the complex, she opened a thick metal door, and gestured inside. There was his trusted TARDIS, sitting on a metal grate, in what was clearly a crematorium. It was quite disturbing.

"Thanks," he said, as she shut the big, heavy, frightening door. Then he let himself into the TARDIS, locked it behind him, walked up the ramp, and dematerialised.

He'd set coordinates to land just a bit outside the complex. He immediately attempted to dial into the Lasha's computer records, and was able to hack in without too much trouble – nothing in their technological activity was particularly sophisticated. It had been _just enough_ to make it difficult to escape without the TARDIS from the inside, and had made it necessary to carry out a "plan" that ultimately made the Abbess release him. But, their firewalls were standard, and easily surmountable by the TARDIS.

He reckoned he could probably learn quite a bit about the Lasha, and by extension the planet and its recent metamorphosis, and he was sorely tempted to do more research. But what he was actually after, was a schematic of the complex, and Martha.

It was not difficult to figure out where on the blueprint she was being held. The Chamber of Law and Order had a "receiving" area, and a "holding" area.

He set coordinates for Law and Order, and braced himself for what he might find, and the fight that might follow.

And when he walked out the door, he got quite a shock.

"Oh, Doctor, aren't you clever?" he muttered to himself. Because the possibility that this was a trap had never occurred to him.

There, in the Chamber, facing him squarely, were the Abbess, Larocy, Sariah, and Cenena, head of security. The four of them glared at him, with variations on anger and vindication.

"So," the Abbess said. "You planned it."

"Planned what? To rescue Martha because you said you were holding her? Yeah, I did."

"No!" she shouted. "You pretended to leave the complex. You pretended to understand that Martha Jones is an enemy of the Lasha. I told you she could not go unpunihed, and yet you're here trying to free a prisoner of the Lasha!"

"Yeah, I want my friend back. So sue me."

"You also pretended to be diffident and ashamed this morning."

"Yes, that too."

"So, you planned to ruin yourself all along, because you wanted to flout the Divine Right of the Abbess!"

"Actually, technically, it _was_ Martha's idea," he shrugged. "But she basically just showed up in the Quadrangle and said, _if you and I have a shag, the Abbess won't want you anymore, and she might let you go… what do you think?_ And I said, _I think it's a jolly good idea, since I have absolutely zero desire to stay here._

"I see."

"I mean, actually, her words were a lot more eloquent and tactful than that, because Martha, as it happens, is an articulate and passionate person. But the point is, she didn't have to seduce me, and you might be interested to know, ladies, I do have full control over my own urges. So do most men. And where Martha comes from, the men have a long, long history of keeping women under their thumb, because they think they need protection, they need guidance, they aren't as clever, or as capable… and guess what! They're wrong too!"

"That's rubbish," Sariah spat. "There's no such place!"

"Actually, there is. It's called Earth. At this point in their history, things are getting much, much better, over most of the planet, anyway, and equality only grows from here. But the point is, there is no superior or inferior, there's only wise and terrible choices."

"You're wrong!" Cenena told him.

He sighed. "If you like," he said, stepping fully out of the box now. "But Abbess, now that I'm caught, I want you to see: this is what happens when you keep half the population under your boot. You get rebellion. You get secrets and lies, and frankly, you have to spend a hell of a lot of time and energy keeping track of everything."

"That's what my staff is for," she retorted.

"Yeah, but that's no fun. Why not just, you know, find someone you like, let him come and go as he pleases, fall in love, then _ask_ him to marry you, instead of decrying it? It's a lot more satisfying, and a lot less trouble, because there's a lot less chance he's going to want to flee."

The Abbess, he could tell, was listening. But her face fell, and she said, "The Gathering Council would never allow it."

"Then maybe you're in the wrong line of work, eh?" he said to her. "Because if your consort is only ever a _consort_ to you, then all you'll have are the superficial trappings of a relationship – there will never be love, or friendship, or respect. I mean… I don't know for sure if you care about those things, but something in the look on your face tells me you do."

"Doctor, I…"

He approached her. "Abbess, you deserve a companion. Not a consort. Not a husband approved by a committee… or not approved as the case may be. Your betrothal should not happen because some man can tick a bunch of boxes decided by people who are not you."

"Enough of this," Cenena said, forcefully. "You've participated in a gross breach of protocol, and now you've clearly come looking for Martha Jones, proving that you were, once again, planning on flouting the will of the Abbess. Your TARDIS is now property of the Lasha."

With that, the head of security flipped a switch on the wall near her, which the Doctor recognised as an ioniser. It electrified the air around them, and was meant to scramble any electronic device in the room.

He sauntered over to the switch. "A grade-five ioniser by Hulion, Inc. Very posh. Definitely enough to stall my TARDIS. Illegal in most parts of this galaxy."

And he was not lying. The TARDIS would shut itself down in the presence of this type of stimulus, as a security protocol, and it would take _days_ if not _weeks_ to coax her to open up her systems enough to fly. That is, unless Cenena decided to withdraw the ionisation.

"Doctor," the Abbess said. "I wouldn't know how. To have a companion, I mean. I wouldn't even know how to love or show respect to a man. Or... even be worthy of all that. All I've ever known is power."

"Don't tell me you're actually _listening _to him!" Sariah said.

"She is," Larocy said, though clearly, the Abbess' right-hand-woman was not surprised.

"It's not hard to be worthy, Abbess," the Doctor said.

"I've been taught to be poised, forceful, masterful, intelligent," she said. "And when the time came, I was to choose a husband who is handsome, strong, and obedient, and if he… _inflames _me somehow, all the better."

He nodded. "I know. Sorry, Abbess, but you're like an open book. I can see exactly what your upbringing and education must have been like, and how very much _you_ are just as much under someone's thumb as I am."

"How dare you!" Sariah growled.

"Shut up, Sariah," the Abbess said.

"I can see how you've never been taught to desire a companion over a consort, or… well, they aren't mutually exclusive," the Doctor pointed out. "You might still find a consort who suits the Council, who is also a good conversationalist, cares about your feelings and vice versa, and… _inflames _you. It's possible, but it takes time, and work. And… I'm not your man."

"Because I tried to force you?"

"That, and… I already have someone," he said. He surprised himself a bit. Everything he had just described in a possible partner for the Abbess, he realised, was something he already had. And he had been ignoring it for far too long. He now saw that Martha Jones had _marked _him last night, in a completely different way than the Lasha believed.

There was a pause, then she took two steps forward toward him, and said, "Doctor, I know I've already asked you to stay as a ward, and as a… _ahem, _concubine, and you have declined. But, I'm going to ask you again to stay as a friend. Let's spend days talking about companionship and what it means, and being worthy, and..."

"I don't think I can do that, Abbess," the Doctor said, gently. "But I can see that you want things to change. Being worthy takes generosity of spirit, it takes compassion, it takes an open mind, and do you know how you can start right now?"

"How?"

"By asking Cenena to undo the ionisation, and letting me go. Because, Abbess, I have an actual _companion_ to get to. I have love, friendship, and respect waiting for me at a rendezvous point, and I can't let her down."

"Abbess, please," Cenena said. "We set up the _Martha Jones has been arrested _ruse to see if he'd try to rescue her! You said, if he does, we'll know that he's an untrustworthy adversary, an out-of-control man who needs to be shown his place."

"Actually, the Abbess said none of that," Larocy pointed out. "You said it, and she nodded."

"The point stands!" Cenena argued.

"If you ask me, Abbess, this entire conversation is setting a dangerous precedent," Sariah told her. "You're entertaining the radical notions of the men's movement, and undermining your position! A consort is your property, not your equal! He is to be displayed, not to be loved!"

The Abbess looked at her with worry.

Suddenly the Doctor could see how precarious the Abbess' position really was. She was well-bred to be a woman with an iron fist, but her fundamental personality was something else. She was impressionable, and uncertain. She dared to have doubts, and see nuances.

Which meant that she could be swayed to the "other" side again by Sariah.

"Abbess," the Doctor said. "Who are you now? Are you someone who is open to love and companionship, nor not? Are you going to take the first step?"

A long, long pause ensued (which might, in fact, have been only ten seconds, but from the Doctor's point of view, everything was in slow motion), and the Abbess said, "Yes."

"Yes?" Sariah asked, incredulous.

"Yes," the Abbess repeated. "Cenena, deactivate the ioniser. We're going to be open to love, and let the Doctor be with his companion."

Cenena stood up straight. "I cannot do that, Abbess. I'm sworn to uphold the security of this facility, and I will not falter."

"Obey my orders," the Abbess said, her eyes hard.

"You'll have to get past us both," Sariah said, joining Cenena in front of the switch.

The Abbess was younger and fitter than both of them, but clearly she had no idea how to subdue them, if they would not respond to her position of power.

But what no-one except the Doctor had seen, because Sariah, Cenena and the Abbess were too busy staring each other down, was that Larocy had begun to move at the outsides of the room, presumably not in the peripheral vision of the head of security, or her pig-headed colleague.

Before anyone realised it, Larocy had flipped the switch back, and the ionisation was lifted. Cenena immediately grabbed her by both arms, and began to shout at her about security and protocol and obedience…

"Doctor! Go!" Larocy shouted at him. "While you still can!"

The Abbess then lunged into the path of Sariah, who was going for the switch again.

The Doctor would have liked to stay and help, because it was clear that the Abbess' power was crumbling now that her "inferiors" had seen where her heart truly was. Larocy would be arrested, Sariah and Cenena might start a coup…

… but it had all been for _him,_ and for the sake of companionship, and it would be a dishonour to it all, if he were to fail to leave, in the window he'd been given.

And so he dematerialised, then set coordinates to find Martha.

* * *

She had been waiting on a cliffside beside the factory they'd seen when they'd first arrived, and were made aware of the fact that the planet Nysted was not as _balanced_ as the Doctor had once thought. This had been the rendezvous point – something familiar, out of the way of prying eyes, and had a beautiful view. If one faced away from the factory, that is.

She was pacing nervously back and forth on a bed of clover, worried that the TARDIS was already destroyed, worried that the Doctor would be roped into marrying the Abbess anyhow, or that he'd be arrested or interrogated or…

She had no idea how long it was supposed to take him to get out of there, mostly because _he _had no idea. All she knew was that they'd decided if he didn't turn up by nightfall, she was supposed to try and sneak back into the complex, and he would try to leave clues for her, as to his whereabouts and/or what to do next. The sonic screwdriver was in her pocket, though they both now knew that all the exterior doors were deadlocked… she'd have to be clever, use her wits in some other way. She also had a cheque in her pocket that might be used to buy information or tools, if need be.

It had been just over two hours when she heard, then saw, the TARDIS materialise before her.

She reached out for the handle so as to let herself in, but before she could do it, he emerged, and swept her up into a big hug. She couldn't help but laugh with relief, and let her arms curl around him, as well.

"How was it?" she asked as he set her back down on the ground. "Was it just hellish getting out of there?"

"Not really," he sighed. "First I pretended to have been more or less violated by you, and got her to let me go, but then I got tricked into coming back, at which point they tried to basically arrest me…"

"I knew it!" she cried out.

"But they didn't," he said with an easy smile. "I talked my way out."

"Ah! _Quelle surprise_," she said, returning the smile.

"And I helped the Abbess realise that she had to let me go, in the name of love."

"That's sweet," Martha said. "But I feel kind of bad for her. She's all heartbroken now."

"Nah, she doesn't love me," he dismissed. "You were right about what you said last night. I was only ever a totem to her. A symbol."

"But the things is," Martha said. "I actually overheard her yesterday evening, before I found you, worrying over the nature of all that. She was wondering what would become of her, if all she ever had with you was a relationship made up of the superficial trappings of having a consort."

He smiled and nodded. "She expressed something similar to me just now, after I went back. She wants a companion, but that person is not me."

"I don't understand, then."

He took a deep breath. "She wants to be worthy of love, so she relented, and showed herself to be open to, and supportive of love. She ultimately decided to honour a relationship that's not all about superficial trappings, and that is rooted in mutual respect, experiences, trust, and… well, dare I say, mutually inflammatory satisfaction."

"Oh?"

"Mm-hm. Which is why she released me to you."

Martha's brain short circuited. She gave him the same look he'd given her the night before, when she'd suggested that sex with _each other _might be the solution to part of their problems. And like the Doctor, it took her a few moments to get there.

But unlike the Doctor, she didn't know what to say.

When they'd awakened that morning, entrenched in the memories and sensations of the explosive night before, he'd remained rather amorous with her, hinting at what they'd _felt, _and not just at what they had _done._

But since then, some time had passed, he'd had to gather his wits, he'd had to _Be the Doctor_, perpetrate a ruse, escape a hairy situation, fly the TARDIS, talk down a powerful person, et cetera, et cetera… she had told herself that she should not expect him to retain that ardent frame of mind when next she saw him.

And yet, here it was.

"Last night, I said that nothing would ever be the same for us, and I didn't know what that meant," he said.

"Yes, you did."

"Our experience of each other would be totally different, but I wasn't sure if that meant a deeper level of trust, or a new-found awkwardness, or a continued carnal relationship, or all of the above... I thought all of those things were equally feasible."

"But it didn't occur to you that…"

"I'd fall in love?" he asked, with a smirk. "Of course it did! I reckon I didn't have far to fall, actually."

"I didn't either. Didn't have any falling to do. I was already there – been there for months. You probably already know that, though."

"I do know. But in that moment last night, thinking of the consequences absently as I was, I just didn't want to go there. Didn't want to hope that hard. I didn't want to contemplate something that big, just then."

"I get it. Just as well."

"I told you I'd always wondered if we were headed down that road anyway, so the consequences of us colliding like that… it's something I've thought about a lot. It's all been fragmented and hypothetical, though. And as of that moment, just before we…"

"Yes?"

"I still didn't know what it all would mean. But I do now."

"You do?"

"Yes. Are you going to make me say it?"

"I'm not ready to say it yet, myself."

He nodded. "Okay, good," he said, taking her hands. "I do, though."

"I do too," she said.

"Thing is, I've got a lot to learn about these matters," he sighed. "This body is new to all this."

"It did just fine, from my point of view," she said.

"It surprised me a couple of times, with the things it wanted."

"Surprised me too," she told him, blushing. "I suppose it's something we'll have to work through together."

"Yeah," he sighed, barely suppressing a smile. "What an arduous task. Like learning a new language."

"Mm," she commented. "Work worth doing, though."

"Shall we?" he asked, gesturing toward the blue box that held a whole new world inside.

"We shall," she answered, disappearing with him inside.

* * *

**And that's it! Hope you found it believable, cathartic, and squee-worthy. ;-)**

**Please drop me a line, let me know your thoughts! Thank you for reading!**


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